Overqualified
by Kagu-tsuchi-13
Summary: After accidentally accepting a job that she was..."more than qualified for," Jade was all but ready to quit. At least that was until she started to realize that there were some perks to her line of work—like the Latina that always seemed to be seated in her area.
1. More Than Qualified

Jade found herself fidgeting in her seat—a strong contrast to the normally strong-willed and even stronger opinionated Jade West that men feared and women respected. It couldn't be helped—this was an important interview. Sure it was just for a job as a cook at this dumpy Hooters knock-off, but her unemployment had ran out a week ago. And with bills piling up, she either had to (quickly) get a job or start selling her possessions on Craigslist, which would mean being forced to deal with people and the moronic questions they would most certainly ask, and she hated interacting with other human beings.

"How are your communication skills?" the manager asked, looking up from the printed copy of her resume.

"Excellent, I am a real people person," Jade said, smiling and maintaining eye contact. She could fake her way through this—if there was one thing that Jade Alicia West knew how to do it was fake it.

"Well, Ms. West, your resume looks acceptable. Not much in the way of experience, though." He definitely sounded displeased, as in so displeased that he had already written her off and anything she said after this was moot.

Jade was glad that she wore her sweat absorbing spanx under her clothes, because she felt drenched. Damn experience. How the fuck do they expect you to have experience if you never got hired to obtain it? But she wasn't about to throw in the towel; it was time to lie through her teeth.

"Yes, well, I don't have a lot experience on paper, but I do have...what you would call...real world experience." She tried to keep it together. And if he didn't ask any follow up questions then she would be in the clear.

"Oh, such as?"

Shit!

"Well," she said, utilizing the first thing that popped into her head, "just about every weekend my family would have a cookout." She stopped for a moment to make sure that she could keep her lies straight, then continued. "And I always helped my brother with the grilling. I was right there, checking the meat, ensuring that it was cooked just enough so that it was brown, but not enough that it got overdone and the flavor was spoiled." She was, of course, lying. The only time she ever helped with the grilling ending with the fire department being called and her mom ordering out for Chinese.

Not that it mattered, because her story did not appear to move him—at all.

"That is good to know," he said, rising up. "Well, I got your resume here. We'll keep in touch if anything comes up." He extended his hand to Jade, which she politely accepted and shook firmly. She knew that "we'll keep in touch" was pretty much code for "screw you" but there was no need to make a scene here—she'd save that for the parking lot.

X—X—X—X—X

Jade had been more than ready to say goodbye to this dump but nature called, and she very well couldn't disregard the call of nature. And when she came back—having washed her hands six times, as well as made plans to shower the second she got home—she found a creepy looking man standing where she had left her purse.

Fuck!

Jade took another look at him. The guy could not be more stereotypical: obese, balding, wearing a tacky pinstriped suit and, to top it all off, holding a cigar in-between his bright yellow teeth. Give him a thick Brooklyn accent and you'd think he just fell out of a cheesy gangster movie.

But the worst part was he looked pretty comfortable where he was standing—which made Jade realize that she either had to wait him out or go over there and risk him hitting on her.

Now she might have just left her purse, had she not remembered that her precious cigarettes were tucked away in it, and Jade could not make it back home without huffing those hazardous chemicals that her mom and doctor always chastised her for buying—she'd sooner die than do that.

Well, here she went. So far so good: he hadn't even looked up from whatever it was he was looking at. Hell, at this rate she might—

"Can I help you, miss?" the man asked, sounding like a sick donkey that just sat down on a rusty bed of nails.

"Don't mind me, I was just getting my things," Jade said, putting on her best friendly smile. This dude gave her the willies—almost like he'd offer to buy her a drink, that she later learned, after waking up two days later in a hotel bed with no clothes on, had four roofies in it.

As if reading her mind, he asked, "May I get you a drink? Perhaps a Cosmo?"

"Oh, that's okay; I wasn't here to eat." Jade found herself sweating even more now than during the interview. Her spanx had gotten so heavy that it felt like a dam that was about to burst. "I was just here about a job, but—"

"You are hired."

Jade froze. She must have gotten a waxy build-up in her ear, because she could have sworn that he just said that she was hired. But even if she didn't, it still didn't make sense. How could this guy hire her?

"I see from your expression that you are confused," he went on. "Allow me to introduce myself—I am William P. Vernons the III: owner of this fine establishment." He put forth his meaty palm, Jade taking notice that his giant fingers looked like the salamis that hung in the window of her favorite Italian deli (which also killed her appetite for salami, possibly forever).

"Oh," Jade said, feeling slightly less confused. She accepted his hand, shaking it firmly while making immediate plans to go back to the bathroom and wash it after she was out of his sight. "And you said that I am hired, but your manager—"

"Forget what Carl said. I hate that S.O.B anyway. I only keep him around because he's the wife's nephew. And besides, I can see that you are more than qualified for this job." He seemed transfixed on her chest—which, already her best feature, stuck out even more; she had worn her lucky push-up, just like she did to every big event (and it looked to be paying off—for once). "I could even go as far to say that you are overqualified."

"You really think so?" She did not know what having big tits had to do with cooking food, but she also knew not to point this out and make him reconsider his rash (and to be honest—idiotic) decision.

"Yes," he said, rubbing his palms together, "you will fit in nicely. Since Carl already wasted your time with an interview, I will forward your schedule to you. And Tracy will show you the ropes before your first shift."

Jade couldn't hardly believe it—she got the job and just by conversing with the head honcho.

"I won't let you down, Mr. Verons."

"Please, call me Mr. V.; Mr. Verons was my father." He laughed as if this was the most hilarious joke ever told, and Jade was smart enough to politely chuckle as well. "And don't worry, I can tell already that you won't let me down."

Jade had no idea what that meant...and didn't care. She had a job. And here she thought that she was going to get stuck doing something degrading.

X—X—X—X—X

"Let me get this straight—you ran into the owner, you chatted for no more than two minutes, and he hired you while starring at your chest," said Beck, her best friend since kindergarten. He had been the first one that she had informed of her good fortune; she always came to him first, and not just because he owned and ran a small sports themed bar—not unlike a certain Sam Malone, whom Jade knew thanks to a combination of insomnia and late night channel surfing.

"Pretty much," Jade agreed as she picked up her mug and took a sip of her draft Yuengling. "Why?"

Beck set down the whiskey glass that he had been obsessively cleaning (he always was one for tidiness; his counters rivaled a surgeon's work station in being germ free) and looked at Jade for several seconds, several very intense seconds.

"Come on, do the math. You were in a Hooters knock-off. You met the sleazy owner—who starred at your chest and said that you were 'more than qualified', and now you have a job, despite your pathetic resume and questionable skills."

Jade did the math, like she was instructed, and nearly fell off her stool. How could she have been so stupid? Of course the owner didn't think that she was applying for the cook position. Who would think that a girl with huge knockers would go to a place like that to loiter over a hot grill? It would be like a 6'4 350 pound man joining a football team...as the water boy—it was just a waste of natural given talents.

"Goddammit! How the hell did I not realize that?" She was asking herself more than she was asking him. But at least he pointed it out before she went there, ready to sling hunks of meat; it would have been awkward as fuck (for her) when they handed her some skanky outfit that border-lined on underwear. "I better call the bastard and tell him he got the wrong girl." She started fishing for her Galaxy SIII, buried somewhere in her messy purse, when Beck (loudly) cleared his throat, making her look up with a puzzled expression.

"You should work there; it kinda makes you a hypocrite if you don't."

"Elaborate," she demanded, wondering where he could possibly be going with this.

Instead of responding he picked up his Nexus 7 tablet, that had been sitting next to him, and started doing something. She tried to intervene, but every time she did, he would hold up his hand. Finally, after many minutes of waiting, he handed it to her, to which she accepted, being very curious to see what he went to all the trouble to bring up.

On the screen was her Facebook page: her wall to be more precise, dated back to several months ago, back during swimsuit season. The screen bore a post that she had made about how she couldn't understand how some women can go to the pool or beach in a skimpy bikini and yet scream if a guy sees them in a bra and panties.

"Yeah, what the hell does this have to do with anything?" She couldn't possibly see how a post that got ten likes (all from guys who tried, at one point, to get in her pants) related to an incredibly demeaning job.

"I seem to recall a certain beach bonfire that you attended—in a purple two piece that left little to the imagination."

Jade thought back to the bonfire he was referring to. She had worn a bikini, but it was a scorcher that day. She would had considered going fully nude, had the event took place on a clothing optional beach—it was just that hot.

"And?"

"You had no problem walking, talking, eating...in that bikini. And you got hit on several times while in it—and didn't have a problem with that, either."

Now she was starting to see where he was going with this.

"So you think that me wearing a bikini makes me a hypocrite..." She had to contain herself before she continued, "...because I don't want to wear some fucking skimpy outfit and let perverted creeps ogle my tits—and all for a few measly dollars?"

"Just saying." He picked his glass back up and started turning it over, as if there could still be a spot on it after that assault he performed with his dishcloth.

Jade slammed down the rest of the beer in her glass, barely tasting it as it went down her throat. All this shit was upsetting—the kind of upsetting that could only be appeased by alcohol. She tapped her mug, her non-verbal way of letting Beck know just that.

"You know," he said as he grabbed her mug and set it under the draft dispenser, thankfully having picked up on her sign language, "if for not other reason, you should take the job so that you can actually pay for a beer." It was true, Jade hadn't paid for a beer since she got fired; Beck had been nice (and stupid) enough to let her start a tab, figuring that she wouldn't take advantage—and that foolishness ranked right up there with buying stock in an American based electronics company.

"I told you I am going to pay." She hated having to endure this shit; almost enough to actually pay for a beer so she could shut him up—almost.

He gave her a look that suggested that he didn't believe that at all, though he still set down the refilled mug on top of one of his personalized coasters: his idea, figuring that if someone ever stole one they would see that they stole it from his bar and come back; good for repeat business, so he claimed.

While Jade started on her beer, one of Beck's own servers came up with an order and he went about filing up two mugs with Bud Light and taking out a bottle of Sam Adams and removing the cap before setting it all on a tray. The scene made Jade wonder if she could do all that...while walking around in her underwear.

Jade cleared her throat. "Do you think I'd be good at waitressing?"

"Not if your life depended on it," he replied, cocking his head slightly in her direction as he dumped some peanuts from a giant Planters jar into a bowl and set it in the center of the tray. "Why, you actually considering it?"

"No!" she responded automatically.

"Good." He handed the tray to the waitress then turned to her. "You could never do what these girls do."

"What's that supposed to mean?" She found herself feeling slightly offended at his accusations.

"Nothing, just that it takes a certain poise to waitress...especially when you deal with drunk and rowdy men. And let's be honest, you can barely deal with other people that are sober. It would be a train wreck if alcohol was thrown into the equation."

Her blood started to boil. Some nerve he had. So what if everything he said was one hundred and twenty percent accurate—it still didn't give him the right. She had half a mind to take the job just to shove it in his face.

"I could do that job in my sleep. There's nothing to waitressing. I bet I could do it while always shooting off zany one liners and having tons of misadventures with my blond roommate while we try to get out cup—"

"Please don't mention that," he interrupted. "But if you are serious, why don't you put your money where your mouth is. And I use the term money metaphorically...seeing as you never seem to have any."

"What are you going on about?"

"I know you can't last one week at that place, but if you can prove me wrong then I will forget that you ever had a tab with me."

"And if I lose?" Jade knew better than to accept a bet without knowing what the spoils were. And knowing Beck, he'd likely make her do something that involved her wearing even less clothes than the other place—this was the man that made two of his regulars stand on top of the bar and sing the Canadian National Anthem after the Patriots lost the Super Bowl.

"If you lose then...you have to...waitress for me for a month," he declared, then quickly added, "with no salary."

Jade shuddered. Waitressing for a bunch of drunken idiots—most who didn't tip—was right up there with being ogled in a skimpy outfit; in fact, they were neck in neck. Still, she could muster through a week, easy.

"You're on." She picked up her mug and drained what was left in it. "Let's commemorate the occasion with a beer. You can put it on my tab." Come next week she'd have a clean slate. Just imagine, a whole new tab to run up.

X—X—X—X—X

"I hate men," Tori declared to no one in particular. This was said because she had gotten stood up for her movie date. If this had been a blind date she wouldn't have minded as much, butit was a whole 'nother story when the guy doing it was her boyfriend of almost two years. She was pissed...and rightfully so.

And not wanting to see the movie alone (it was a tear jerking romance; she would have felt weird, likely, being the only single person there), she instead went to the Chinese buffet—conveniently located right across the street from the theater.

Though that proved to be a bad move—when Tori was upset she ate...a lot. By the time that she left, much to the owner's relief, she had consumed so many fried shrimp that she could no longer button her jeans, even after sucking in.

And now she had to get home and break out the bourbon in the freezer to further drown her sorrows. She decided to walk, rather than take the bus or a cab; she had to walk some of this huge meal off, figuring that she gained at least three pounds—which would bring her weight up to around 103, give or take a pound. Yeah, Tori was skinny—and in all places, hence why she seldom wore a bra. Not that she was bothered by it. There were worse things to be, which she wouldn't speak of, lest she risk offending seventy percent of America (and counting).

And Paul didn't seem to mind her lack of chest...or at least he put on a good facade about it. That was one of the things that she liked about Paul. Actually, here lately, it seemed to be the only thing she liked about him.

"Damn, Paul, you stupid fucker. Why'd you have to go and cancel last minute?" she asked him, acting like he was standing next to her. They had made these plans over a week in advance, and she had made sure that his schedule was clear before she picked the theater and time (only picking them because he hated doing so, claiming that it was a hassle).

It sure was funny how he always had to work late or run some "important" errand for his mother whenever they had plans, yet never when he had had tickets to a UFC event or one of his friends wanted him to drop everything for a spontaneous fishing, hunting or camping trip. His schedule was always conveniently clear for those things.

And as Tori hobbled down the sidewalk—as she was wearing pumps, having dressed for a date—another thought occurred to her: every single time Paul took her somewhere he charged her gas. Now that, in itself, wouldn't have been so bad—had it not been for the fact that he ate and drank around ten dollars worth of food and beer every time he came over. Many a time Tori found herself feigning horniness to get him into the bedroom and away from the refrigerator, for feat that she'd be stuck eating nothing but peanut butter sandwiches till her next paycheck. (He was deathly allergic to peanuts; it was why she made sure to frequent her cabinets with as much peanut related products as possible.)

Though, despite all this glaring logic, Tori knew that she was not about to break up with Paul. She didn't know why; maybe the good outweighed the bad; who could say?

X—X—X—X—X

"Are you sure you are able to drive?" Beck asked, holding up Jade's car keys, his added height and long limbs making it so that Jade was unable to reach them, even on her tip-toes.

"Yes," Jade groaned for the upteenth time. "I only had six...ish beers." Beck always did this; he was too damn afraid of a drunken accident that would be traced back to his bar—and the man did not like negative publicity, plus seeing people injured and all that shit.

He shook his head. "No, sober up. Eat some pretzels. I can't, in good faith, let you drive. I'd never be able to live with myself if you hit someone and died."

Jade sighed but relented and sat down, picking up a handful of the miniature pretzels as she did. Though, after popping one in her mouth and chewing, she spit it back out in disgust.

"These aren't Rold Gold!"

"The warehouse I buy Rold Gold from upped their prices...by a lot. I'd have to raise the price of all my drinks by a quarter to compensate for the loss. And I can't do that to my customers."

"But you can serve them this...cardboard?!"

"Hey, it's free."

Jade rolled her eyes. "I'll just come back for my car, tomorrow." She lifted herself out of her stool and stood up. "If anything happens to it I will knock your nose so far into your head that you will be able to smell your brain." She loved her 2010 Camaro more than anything, having kept it in pristine condition since she drove it off the lot in 2011 (after a lot of haggling, and flirting, with the salesman).

"Suit yourself," he agreed, taking her keys and putting them in his apron pocket. "It's probably safer here than on the street you live anyway."

Jade would have disagreed, had he not been right. How she had gone two years without her car being broken into was a mystery in itself.

X—X—X—X—X

Jade realized, upon the bright L.A. light hitting her, that she was not as sober as she thought. She could walk, but not very well. Hmm, looks like Beck had been right—not that she would let the smug bastard know that; he'd never let her hear the end of it.

But she could feign sobriety enough to get home without rousing suspicion by the fuzz. Damn cops. You would think, with all the murderers and rapists running free, that they would concentrate on the big picture, instead of monopolizing their time setting up speed traps and nabbing people for being drunk on the sidewalk. Then again, catching real criminals took work, work that police didn't want to immerse themselves in. What a great use of tax payer dollars.

Thoughts of the corrupt (and useless) police system in mind, she staggered forward, putting one foot in front of the other. She realized that she looked ridiculous, moving like she was walking over a rickety bridge that overlooked a deep cavern, full of jagged rocks (not unlike a certain feel good 80s movie based on a Stephen King novella). But she didn't care and kept lynching forward.

And after an estimated six or seven minutes worth of movement, she found that she had traveled about one and a half blocks.

It was going to be a fucking long journey home.

X—X—X—X—X

If there was one thing that Tori hated about Los Angeles—other than the crime, pollution and extremely high cost of living—it was the humidity; already a quarter past eight and it still felt hot out. Damn sun—and probably global warming as well—making it unbearable out here for nice people such as herself.

Eliciting a groan (her third in the past five minutes), she decided to make a detour—anything that had liquid refreshment and/or working air conditioning would do.

And after whizzing past a flower shop, a beauty salon and an Asian massage parlor (that was probably a front for a brothel), she came upon a used book store. A neon sign sat in the window, flashing OPN (Tori guessed that the E was out) in bright yellowish-green letters.

Hmm, she thought, looking from the sign to the writing on the door, revealing that the place closed at eleven. That gave her almost two and a half hours. And a nice romance novel (with some steamy love scenes) did sound rather appealing.

Soon after, she found herself sitting in one of the arm chairs, situated in the connected Java Hut—which housed a few patrons who were looking through books and magazines, save one man who was doing some kind of work on his laptop, only looking up to take sips from his plastic cup of water.

_This is just what I needed_, thought Tori, looking down at her basket filled with bargain bin novels, along with a few regular priced ones (that she planned to skim and put back on the shelf). She then wasted no time in picking up one and letting herself get lost in the story of a woman who was torn between her nice guy boyfriend, hot vampire crush and career as a journalist for a major magazine.

She had been about fifty pages in, having just reread the scene were Aurora and Horacio accidentally see one another in the shower, when she heard a commotion.

"Seven bucks for a fucking minuscule cup! Is this coffee made from beans or rubies?"

Looking up, Tori saw a female: pale, raven locks that went past her shoulders and sporting a very pissed off scowl. It looked like anything could piss that girl off—judging by the fact that she was (presumably) getting angry at the high cost of this place's coffee. It made Tori wonder what kind of reaction the girl would have if she ever went to Starbucks.

"Ma'am, I don't make these prices," said the twenty-something male working the register—and it was clear, by his tone of voice, that he had dealt with people like the angry woman before.

"But you could not be a jackass and warn a person," the angry woman said, just before she walked away from the counter in a huff—much to Tori's amusement.

But the amusement was short lived, as, before Tori could blink, she found the angry woman had situated herself in the empty seat...right next to hers. Tori tried to look immersed in her book, but she couldn't help herself and snuck a peak, believing herself to be subtle.

"Can I help you?" the angry woman asked, killing Tori's beliefs that she had been subtle.

Finding herself caught off guard, Tori reluctantly looked up, being greeted by a pair of piercing blue-green eyes and an indifferent expession.

"Oh, I was just..." Tori found that she couldn't come up with a plausible excuse—having never been one to work well under pressure.

"Checking me out?" the angry woman finished, an eerie smile forming across her unglossed lips.

"What? No!" Tori felt taken back by that abrupt statement—even more-so when the girl appeared disappointed in her response. "I was just...why'd you yell at that poor barista?"

"Why? Because I came in for a cup of coffee, but there is no fucking way in hell that I was going to buy this overpriced shit. I could buy a whole package for the cost of one cup here."

"I gathered that from your...um...shouting." Tori didn't know how to put it in nicer terms—and from the looks of it, the girl probably wouldn't care either way. "But it's not really his fault; he's just doing his job." She braced herself after speaking, hoping that the girl wouldn't aim for the face or boobs—those were her most sensitive areas, save the south of the border.

But, much to her relief, the girl just sighed and leaned back in her chair before speaking again. "It's not about the coffee—not really."

"Oh?" Tori found herself leaning in, finding herself far more interested by this girl's problems than in the redundant plot in the book that had fallen to the floor.

"Yeah, I kinda...sorta...took a job that I know I will hate...And now I am stuck there for at least a week; I don't think I can do it—not without going insane." The girl gasped for breath after she finished ranting; Tori had to admit that she was impressed—not just anyone could rant like that.

"I don't really like my job, either," Tori responded, not knowing what else to say and figuring that the sympathetic route was the way to go. " She wasn't lying, either. Why she ever got into her line of work she'll never know.

"Yeah, it sucks," the angry girl agreed, though she did not delve further, much to Tori's disappointment.

"Can I ask you a question?" Tori asked. For some reason Tori did not want the conversation to end so abruptly—she felt an odd connection to this girl.

The girl looked over. "You can, though I might not indulge you with an answer."

Tori was a bit off put by that but asked anyway. "What's your opinion on tipping fifteen percent?"

"Even though I am a waitress...for now, I say tip based on the service; I know I'm not going to give a lazy bitch more money when she didn't do more work. Once a dumb bitch at Denny's chewed my face off for leaving a buck...when she only fucking refilled my coffee once! Said she'd spit in my food the next time she saw me—I told her that if she did I'd spit in her face...right after I knocked her the fuck out!"

Tori found herself smiling. She liked this girl—a bit brass, but she seemed like she was the kind of person who said what she felt and didn't pussyfoot around the subject. Tori knew that she would have to get to know her better. But could she ask the girl for her cell or to friend her on Facebook? Wasn't that the kind of stuff that was reserved for a guy asking out a girl? Come to think of it—how exactly were you supposed to make new friends post high-school?

Tori finally decided to just come right out with it. After all, the worst thing that could happen would be the girl would say no.

"Hey, I was wondering if you..." Tori found herself unsure in how to continue this, mostly because she had to phrase her words carefully, lest she give the girl the vibe that she was romantically interested in her; that would definitely not bode well, given the fact that the girl all but threatened to maul an innocent barista. And though Tori could admit (she was secure in her sexuality) that the girl was attractive, she did not want her to think that she was hitting on her—and risk getting hit on back...as in the kind of hitting that would lead to Tori pressing charges for Assault and Battery.

"Hold on, the beer I drank went right through me." Before Tori could react, the girl was up and walking away—making Tori fear that she said the wrong thing and scared her off, not unlike her previous boyfriend, back when she demanded that he make a commitment or hit the road; three guesses which path he chose.

Tori, having figured that the girl was long gone and never coming back, picked up her book off the floor and returned to her steamy shower scene. She was at the part were Aurora was scrubbing Horacio's perfectly defined six-pack with her natural D-cups when she heard someone loudly clear their throat, making her look up.

"It was uh...interesting talking to you." The girl looked a tad red in the cheeks, though Tori just wrote it off as being in the sun for too long—in spite of the fact that the girl's cheeks were not red when Tori first saw her.

"Uh, you, too," Tori agreed, accompanying this with a nod. Interesting certainly was a word that could be used about this...encounter. Though it wouldn't be the one that Tori would choose—not by a long shot.

"But I gotta split," the girl went on. "Maybe find some coffee that..._isn't a fucking highway robbery_!" She said that last part while looking in the direction of the barista, who responded with a gesture that involved him holding up a certain finger of his, then turned back to Tori. "So, uh, see ya...or whatever." She started walking away, quickly, almost like she couldn't wait to get out of here and get away...far away...far away from Tori.

And Tori, seeing her potential new friend leave, hurriedly called out, "Wait, I didn't get your name!"

That made the girl turn around. "That's because I didn't tell you what it was." Tori caught a grin—a very cheeky one—and then she was gone, just like that.

_Well, I tried,_ Tori assured herself. She picked up her book for the third time and resumed where she left off. She tried her best to get back into it but found that she was no longer fascinated by hot vampire sex. In fact, she found that she no longer felt like reading at all. No, she would just go home, ignore Paul's texts and calls (providing he actually did either) and open up that expensive bottle of wine that she was saving for her and Paul's two year anniversary—which she now realized probably wouldn't have been used for that intended purpose anyway.

And as she got up, leaving her basket for someone who worked here to deal with, she found that she was more upset that the girl hightailed it out of here so quickly than over the fact that things with Paul were rocky, almost to the point of break-up.

_That sure is funny...in an ironic sense,_ she thought as pushed open the door, the bell above jingling loudly. She caught a glare from the guy seated behind the check-out counter—who she presumed was the owner—who was no doubt pissed off that she was leaving without buying anything, but she didn't give a fuck and continued out the door. Her mind replayed vivid images of the angry girl and her raven locks and piercing blue-green eyes and...well endowed chest, which Tori could not help but notice—the girl had been wearing a rather thin t-shirt.

And these images continued to play. It actually got to a point that Tori—against her solemn judgment—took out her phone and typed up a quick:

_Too bad u missd the movie...but we can still do sumthin tugthr tonite ;) ;)_

She shuddered as she finished, deciding against adding a third winky face. It wasn't the terrible spelling and grammar—being on Facebook and other social networking sites for numerous years had given her an immunity to that. No, it was the fact that she was essentially forgiving Paul—when she was still pissed off—but also rewarding him for his jackass behavior.

It made Tori almost reconsider, but—before she could change her mind—she hit send. Now it would just be a matter of minutes, possibly not even that long, before Paul would respond and rush over here to get her. When it came to a booty call, Paul could move faster than Superman.

And as Tori stood outside, the owner still shooting daggers in her direction, she tried to look at the positives, though the only one she could think of was that she was getting a free ride home. It made her laugh at how pathetic she was for bargaining sex to get him to do things for her—that was the kind of shit that you saved for after you were married.

X—X—X—X—X

Once Jade was far away and sure that the Latina chick wasn't going to follow her, she exhaled the breath she had been holding in.

"Shit," she muttered as she fumbled in her purse for her cigarettes. She had been saying that she was going to quit, being unable to afford to keep up her habit thanks to being forced to live on unemployment, but now was not the time to start. And it was all thanks to that girl and her damn...attractiveness. It made Jade glad that she wasn't a man—or possessed the genitalia of one. It would have been awkward as fuck to be sitting there with a full hard-on going on (that surely would have alerted the Latina chick that she was into her).

Jade managed to calm herself enough to pull out one of her trusty Tahoes (she preferred Marlboro, but she was on a budget) and lighter, which she kept in her boot—for safe keeping. After a few tries she managed to light the stick, and then wasted no time in taking a generous puff, letting her lungs be filled with nicotine and toxic chemicals that would (one day) give her cancer.

"Fuck yeah," she sighed, blowing out a thick cloud of smoke; this was just what she needed.

After taking a second drag, and then a third for good measure, she restarted her journey home. There were some mild regrets about stopping, but she shook them off. Besides, it had been sort-of nice to interact with another female, as opposed to the drunken losers that she usually associated with at Beck's Establishment (that was the actual name of the place; he didn't knock himself out when coming up with one).

But it was weird—her gaydar didn't go off around the Latina girl, yet it seemed like she was trying to ask her out, or at least get to know her better. Though another, even worse, thought occurred to Jade: the girl might have just wanted to be..._friends._

That word left a terrible taste in Jade's mouth. Seriously, be friends with an incredibly attractive girl whom Jade felt an immediate attraction from the get go...

As if.

X—X—X—X—X

The second that Jade saw the uniform, the only thought on her mind was: "No bet is worth this!"

Alexis—the tall, voluptuous redhead, who possessed a pair of legs that seemed to go on forever—had brought the vile thing to her and held it up by the clothes rack that it was attached to. It looked even worse up close. Hell, if wasn't for the restaurant logo—which said Twin Peak, accompanied by a picture of two mountains, no doubt a double entendre for breasts—Jade would have believed it to be really ugly lingerie.

"I have to wear this?!" Jade asked, hoping that this just a cruel joke that they played on the new employee, while simultaneously looking over the uniform (the little there was) and eying it with disgust. The top—which was a generous term—looked more like a sports bra; while the shorts appeared to be something that Hulk Hogan would have worn in the 70s. And the bland colors of red (shorts) and white (top) didn't help matters.

"You get used to it," Alexis informed. She then shoved the skimpy garments in Jade's hand, as well as a small booklet. "These are coupons for the waxing salon down the street; Mr. V owns that place, also."

Jade was indifferent, until realization hit her and here eyes bugged out. "You mean?"

"Yep, Mr. V likes all his waitresses completely smooth...in every place. It's a pain at first, then you get used to it. I kinda like it—now my boyfriend loves going down on me; I get it like four times a week."

Jade silently snickered at that. She couldn't imagine not loving to go down on a girl—especially one as gorgeous as her. But it did raise another question that Jade had.

She decided to just come right out and ask. "Hey, I was wondering..."

"Yes, the carpet matches the drapes," Alexis finished for Jade, and it was clear by her tone of voice that she had answered that question many a time already. "I'd show you but I just waxed two days ago."

"Oh." Jade wondered if she was serious about showing her—and if she would accept, though it would be rude not to. Yeah, that was it.

Things got awkwardly silent after that, but fortunately (or possibly unfortunately), Mr. Vernons chose that moment to trudge his massive frame over, stopping no less than a foot from them, while also forcing Jade to (unintentionally) take a whiff of his incredibly strong cologne.

"So, is Little Red here showing you the ropes?" he asked, somehow being able to speak with a cigar in his mouth. Jade couldn't help but think that this man liked cigars even more than she liked cigarettes.

"Oh, yes," Jade agreed with a nod, then, remembering the coupons that she was balancing in her outstretched palm, added, "and about the waxing..."

"No need to thank me," he interrupted. "It's just a little gift I give all the ladies. And I always say: 'It's good to keep a clean workstation." He started chuckling heartily at his own terrible joke, his four chins jiggling as he did.

Jade cringed, feeling disgusted...for multiple reasons. "Uh, did you happen to talk to the manager about..."

That made him stop laughing. "What? Oh, that. Yes, Carl informed me that you applied for the cook position. Of course that dumbshit should have told you that that position had already been filled."

Jade felt her insides grind. Her last gleaming hope of not doing this damn degrading job—gone. She then looked back up and saw that he had not stopped talking.

"...And if Carl wasn't so damn retar...I mean ignorant—can't use the r-word, lawyers made that clear, anyway, he should have immediately realized that you were better...qualified for waitressing; I can tell already that you will go far."

That was true—she did want to go far...as in as far away from this shithole as humanly possible. But she was not about to quit; she could last a week...maybe.

"I can't wait to start," she declared, putting on the biggest fake smile she could muster, throwing in an assortment of fake smiles for good measurement. She swore that she caught Alexis roll her eyes, but she paid it no heed.

"That's the enthusiasm I like to see. I have a feeling that you are going to be with us for a very long time."

Jade clenched her teeth while keeping up her farce. Mr. V said some more shit, but she tuned him out. She was more interested in Alexis, who had just up and walked out of the room—right after she shot a glare that Jade knew was directed at her. And though she didn't know for sure, she had a feeling that it was along the lines of: "I know the truth."

It made Jade wonder if it was that obvious and if others knew and realized as well. Not that it mattered, not really, seeing as she would be out of here (for good) come next week.

X—X—X—X—X

"Am I really doing this?" Jade asked herself, looking at her reflection in the locker room mirror. She got no response from the sullen and lifeless girl that looked back at her. And eventually she could take no more and turned away.

She had already gone through all the formalities: she shadowed one of the waitresses and learned about taking orders, telling about the specials, making recommendations based on whatever meat they were trying to unload, filling drink orders and making sure that the customers had valid I.D.—the whole nine yards. And after signing some papers and being forced to endure a man pour wax on her and painfully rip out all the hair below the neck, she was good to go for her first shift, which started in less than five minutes.

She kept her towel clutched firmly around her body as she walked back to the bench and looked down at the uniform that had been neatly laid out, right next to a lacy black thong and matching bra. Picking up the thong, she opened up the towel and looked down; this was the first time since puberty that the only place she had hair was on her head—and she hated to admit it, but she kind of liked it. She couldn't help but run her hand over it, savoring the smoothness; she could get used to this feeling.

"Hey, Janet, quit playing with yourself and get dressed."

Startled, Jade looked up to see Valerie—the head waitress and from what Jade heard, certifiable bitch—staring her down with her eerie gray eyes that nearly made her piss her panties (had she been wearing any).

"It's Jade, and I wasn't...doing that." Jade felt a blush coming on but contained herself—no need to give her the satisfaction. And this could always be settled...later...in the dark alley in the back...where there were no witnesses.

"Whatever, just put on your damn uniform and get out there. A fucking college game just let out and in minutes this place is going to be packed with idiots wanting beer and wings."

Valerie disappeared just as fast as had appeared, once again leaving Jade alone, but not having any time for self pity, she snatched up her undergarments and slid into them, keeping her towel wrapped around her body as she did (she wasn't about to risk another girl, or even worse a guy) barging in and getting a glimpse of her goodies). And once her most private areas were covered—as much as her underwear allocated, anyway—she took another look at her uniform, knowing that it was all going to change once it was on.

_Come on, pull yourself together—you are Jade Alicia West, _she thought, picking up the tiny shorts. This would not be her first time wearing the uniform, having been forced to wear it yesterday, as to insure that it fit: "in all the right places," to more or less paraphrase what Mr. V had said. But this would be the first time that she would be wearing it in front of other people.

The majority that will be males

Horny males.

Horny Males that will be guzzling beer—and possibly liquor—like it's water.

And they will all be in close proximity while she is there—in her skimpy uniform that puts her huge rack and nicely shaped ass on display.

Fuck!

"If you aren't out here in the next two minutes then I am taking half of all your tips!" Valerie's voice screamed out, creating a slight echo as it rang through the room, its annoyingness amplified five-fold.

Jade had a few thoughts but was smart enough to keep them to herself. She continued to hold on to the sentiment that Valerie was a colossal bitch (deliberately using it as a diversion) as her hands slid the shorts upwards, hitting a speed bump when they ran over her ass.

_I have some ass_, she thought as she stood and properly situated her shorts, wanting them to be comfortable for the long evening ahead. She often wondered how she ever got such a great ass, never having being one for exercise, much less the kind that she heard helped shape the buttocks, namely squats and lunges. Not that she was complaining. No sirree. She loved her ass, almost as much as her tits. And speaking of...

She stared at her chest, keeping her gaze fixed as she picked up the last piece of clothing and pulled it over her head. It proved to be difficult, thanks to the small hole she had to put it in (that was excellent material for a dirty joke; she made a reminder to jot it down when she had a pen and paper), but she got it through, after some struggling and craning her neck so far up that a bystander would have thought that she was watching an air show.

"Finished," she declared aloud, having pulled it down and situated it so that it was showing a respectable amount of cleavage—a sort of unwritten rule, according to Tracy, anyway.

As she admired the finished product in the full length mirror, she couldn't help but feel...dare she say it...pride. She looked damn good, what with her hair curled and her makeup touched nicely—though it was a bit more than she normally wore, even when on the town.

And though the uniform left little to the imagination, it did an excellent job of showing off her features, even her flat stomach that was completely devoid of visible muscle tone. It was odd, but the job didn't seem _quite _as appalling as before.

Valerie, or at least her reflection, appeared in the mirror. "That's it, West. I am going to start counting to three—and believe me, you do not want me to fucking get to three."

Angrily turning around, Jade came face to face with her pissed off superior. She hadn't noticed before, but Valerie had rather enticing mocha colored skin—and a great set of Cs; Jade likened that she'd be attractive...If it wasn't for her hideous personality.

"Okay, I'll start you off with one," Jade responded, holding up her middle finger and putting it right in Valerie's face, quickly following this up with flicking her on the nose. "Oh, I see someone had some work done. But I always thought that when you worked in a place like this you got your tits inflated...or your ass raised...or had some flab removed from—"

"This is your last warning." A massive vein started throbbing in her forehead; it was rather unsightly to look at, but Jade did anyway.

Rather than respond, Jade merely pushed past her. She still had qualms about all this, but they now paled in comparison to the hatred that she was feeling for Valerie. And she very well knew that the feeling was mutual, if not more-so.

And it got even worse when she was forced to go back to the locker room, having realized, upon walking out onto the cold floor, that she was not wearing socks or shoes. The icy glare that Valerie gave her—it was like she had just sworn a vendetta on Jade and all her friends and family.

This was going to be a long night.

X—X—X—X—X

Jade had never felt happier than when she saw the last two customers of the night—a pair of twenty-something men, both of whom had slammed down eight drafts a piece—wobble out the door.

"God, if I never see another wing again it will be too soon," Jade sighed as she plopped down in the adjacent seat of the booth that Tracy was is. Tracy was immersed in counting out the tips that were laid out in neat little stacks on the table. She could still smell the buffalo sauce on her hands and forearm—it used to be one of her favorite smells, though now it made her nauseous. She could only hope that her scented body wash would kill the repugnant odor.

"I'm a vegetarian, just imagine how I feel being forced to watch those ravenous beasts eat poor innocent chickens and cows," Tracy responded, not looking up.

Jade snickered. If she wasn't so tired, she might have gone into a rant about how animals eat other animals and that they will die, whether it is from old age or by being turned into hamburgers and chicken nuggets. And besides, she liked Tracy. She got along better with her than any of the waitresses. And, looking at her curly brown hair and fully pouty lips, Jade couldn't help but think that Tracy wasn't too bad on the eyes, either.

"But you did good for your first day; I noticed you didn't lose your temper once."

"Yeah, but I almost did—numerous times." It was true. She was surprised that she didn't when being forced to deal with shit like: how spicy are the hot wings; is there gluten in the batter on the onion rings; should I have Guinness or a Corona? They continued to ask her those, plus many other idiotic and redundant questions. That was when they weren't trying to sneak a peak down her shirt or follow the jiggle of her ass whenever she walked away.

"I've been here for three years and there are still days when I want to smack some of these pervs upside the head. But I just remember...Wait till you see the tip first."

Jade had to admit that that was good logic. It also brought about the question of how much she was going to make tonight, though she figured that it wouldn't be much—she messed up three drink orders, gave two different customers the wrong food and even sent one guy into anaphylactic shock (turns out there _was _gluten in the batter on the onion rings).

Tracy suddenly looked up from her piles ones and fives. "Hey, I hope you don't take this personal or anything, but...uhm...are you gay?"

That took Jade by surprise. How could she know—or at least suspect? Jade knew that she hadn't lingered at her, or any of the other waitresses, save a longing glance at Alexis, and—even then—Tracy hadn't been around to witness that.

Jade considered her options before speaking. On the one hand, if she told the truth, that might distance her from Tracy and the others, as they would always believe that she was trying to get into their tiny shorts. But maybe she'd be understanding, and besides, Jade didn't want to start what she hoped to be a friendship on lies.

"Y...y..esss," Jade finally spit out, the letters coming out in jumbled masses. And before she could get a reaction, she spoke again. "But...I'm...not into you...or anything. Believe me. And I didn't take this job to—"

"Relax," Tracy interrupted, appearing to be amused by her outburst. "I was just asking. I noticed that you didn't so much as give a second glance to any of the guys here tonight. Oh, and you didn't flirt with anyone so they'd leave you a bigger tip—I figured it was 'cause you couldn't make it convincing."

To be honest, Jade hadn't even considered flirting with a guy to get more money, but she would have to keep it in mind; she needed as much money as possible, and a week here, at two something an hour, plus tips, wouldn't amount to a lot.

"I wish I had thought of that," Jade admitted. "But no, I don't like men—except my best friend. And I'd never do...those kind of things with him." She shuddered, just thinking about the stuff that hetero couples did, having always found it gross, especially fellatio. She wondered if Beck also felt this way about doing...that kind of stuff with her, though it was unlikely.

"That's cool. I had a lesbian encounter in high school."

"Really?" Jade tried to not look too excited, but it was tough—she had never discussed her dating life, not even with Beck. And to hear about another girl's was all the better.

"Yeah, was at a party and hanging with a girl from another school. We had both been drinking some punch that was probably more booze than fruit juice. At some point we ended up in the bathroom, making out on the toilet. I even got a little under the bra action—and might have gone all the way, if it wasn't for her throwing up on my neck and chest. That really kills a mood."

Jade found that funny, though not so much that Tracy, at one party, got more female action than she did in her own four year high school experience. But dems da breaks.

"So, you think you will ever have another...encounter...with a woman, I mean? Not that I am suggesting anything." Jade wanted her to know that she was not hitting on her and was, in fact, genuinely interested.

"Nah, I love men. And I really love sex with men. And I mean a lot. Like if I had to pick between sex and food, I'd be really skinny—'cause I'd choose the sex."

Jade sighed. Story of her life.

X—X—X—X—X

"And in conclusion—Tracy is pretty cool, Valerie is a bitch, and I made forty-one dollars," Jade declared, swishing around the little bit of Blue Moon that remained in her mug. "I probably would have gotten more, but they didn't give me a lot of tables—it being my first time and all."

"Great, so why don't you do something crazy with the money...like actually pay for a beer for once in your life?" Beck asked, though it did not stop him from filling up another mug and setting it next to her.

"Why would I? Come six days from now my slate will be clean. And it's my duty to see how much more I can add to it before that happens."

"I wouldn't count your chickens so soon."

Jade finished the beer in her mug and set it down before asking, "What do you mean?"

"You said it yourself—it was your first day." He grabbed her empty mug before continuing. "Now that you know the ropes do you think they will continue to give you a light load?"

Jade sat in contemplation while Beck dunked the empty mug in the pan of soapy water. While he went about cleaning it, Jade mulled over what he said, accompanying her thoughts with sips of beer. Then, almost out of nowhere, all the pieces slid into place.

"Shit!" she gasped aloud, realizing that he was right (for the second time that week). Even worse, she knew that she was getting a full eight hour shift tomorrow. Just call it a hunch, but she had a feeling that it was not going to go off without a hitch.

X—X—X—X—X

"_Just so you know, I don't normally do this on the first date," I said, though I knew it was a lie, and from the smug grin he sported, so did he. And even if he did believe me, how could it justify the many, many times we had already done it?_

_He didn't respond, not with words, anyway. No, he just raised well muscled arms—bearing many a scar that I could only assume came from the years that he warred with the Tribunal and their retched werewolf men—and lifted me up. I found myself sitting in his lap, my naked ass pressed into his pelvis, the thin material of his boxers creating a barrier of sorts between us._

"_I need you," I all but whispered as I ran my hands over his rock hard pecs, getting a feel of his perfectly smooth and perfectly bronzed chest. How a vampire could even have such skin I dared not question, lest it ruin the atmosphere and my steadily increasing horniness. _

"_Patience," he responded, baring a mouthful of fangs and that long tongue that my pussy had become more than acquainted with. Just the thought of it made me drenched. How could a man who was undead make me feel so alive?_

The sudden playing of _Dreams_ by Van Halen pulled Tori out of her novel. It took her a moment to remember whose ring tone she had set the song to, and once she remembered that it was her best friend, she set down her Kindle and grabbed her iPhone, which had been sitting dangerously close to the edge of the bed.

"Yo, Tor, what up?" André asked after she picked up, like always, not waiting for an introduction.

That made Tori blush—he had caught her in a rather..._interesting_ predicament. She looked across the bed: at the edge lie her shorts, having been discard earlier; her panties, meanwhile, hung loosely past mid knee; and her free hand had made itself comfortable between her legs. All of it was enough to make her grab a tissue and clean off the moistness on her fingers, as well as pull her panties back up. She was well aware that he could not see her, but she still felt dirty knowing that she had been doing _that_ while talking to him—a platonic friend.

André must have picked up on the silence, because he said, "You don't have to go through this whenever I interrupt your Tori Time." Tori Time was what he refereed to when she masturbated, since, for some reason, he had an almost uncanny ability to call, or in some cases come over, when she had an overwhelming need to pleasure herself. And though he knew that she did it, she still denied it...every...single...time.

"I wasn't. I was...working on my short story. You caught me just when I was in the middle of a big scene." She actually was writing a short story, having started it three months ago, after having heard about a contest were the winner got five grand and would get their story published in a book. At first she was just interested in the money, but, as time went on, she started to want to win for the chance to be published as well. It could be the start of a long career as a successful writer.

"Sure thing, Tor," he responded, his tone of voice indicating that he didn't believe her. "Guess what?" He didn't give her a chance to respond before he spoke again. "My boss actually appreciated me today." André worked for a company that made and produced jingles for commercials, though a year ago they merged with another company that composed T.V. theme songs. According to André, he is now essentially doing twice the work for no additional money.

"Really?" Tori found that odd—nearly every time she spoke to André he was complaining about his boss and what a jackass he was. Funny enough, his boss was the exact same one he had before the merge; André constantly bemoaned that a new boss would have been one change that he would have been okay with.

"You know it. The boss showed my jingle to Kelloggs, and they are actually going to use a line from it. Word is that we may score a six figure contract with them. And the boss rewarded me with my hard work."

"Did you get a bonus? Or an extended vacation? Or a new car?!" Tori felt herself grow more and more excited with each question. Maybe if he got a new ride then he'd sell her his old Mustang. That thing was a gas guzzler, but it'd be better than what she was driving—nothing.

"Not exactly, but he did give me a hundred dollar gift card. It still has like sixty bucks on it."

"So he is giving you a used gift card?" Her excitement faltered as fast as it came.

"Don't take this away from me."

"Sorry," she apologized, though she didn't meant it...at all; it also begot the question of why he felt the need to call her up, and she decided to ask him just that. "So, is there a reason you felt the need to call me up so late. Or did you want me to throw you a fiesta for your—"

He interrupted. "If you keep being a smartass then I will take back the dinner invitation that I am about to extend."

That made Tori raise her brow inquisitively. André was inviting her to dinner—that was not like him. It was not to say that he was cheap, not really, anyway. Sure, he wasn't what you'd call a big spender, but that was understandable, given the salary that he was paid. Still, for him to ask her—especially given their platonic friend status—there just had to be a catch. And she was going to find out what it was.

"So, what's the catch? Do I have to dress up like an anime character...again?!" That was not a pleasant experience; she was still haunted by that day and the hundred or so cos-players that tried to get with her, even in spite of the fact that she told them that she had a boyfriend.

"No, it's nuthin' like that. Just a nice meal out...at...uh...a place." She easily picked up on his hesitance.

"And the place is?"

She heard him clear his throat. "Well, I may be mistaken, but I think the place might be at one of those sports bar and grill places...you know...with the finger food...and the beer on tap...and the...waitresses." Now he sounded like he was being interrogated by two mafia thugs that were breaking his fingers every time he gave a bad answer. "And these waitresses...well that may be wearing...uhm—"

"Don't tell me it's Hooters!" Tori hated that place. The food was okay, but those uniforms—it made her simultaneously offended (as she believed them to be degrading) and jealous (because her scrawny body could never fill one out).

"Naw, not Hooters...but close."

Tori tried to think of a place that had the sports bar and grill atmosphere...and degraded women. It couldn't be Buffalo Wild Wings. Nor could it be Dave and Busters. And certainly not some classy shindig like Chili's or T.G.I Fridays.

"So, where is this place?" she asked, having ruled out all the places that it couldn't be.

"It's..." She heard him clear his throat. "...Twin Peaks."

Tori didn't react, mostly because she was racking her brain in hopes of matching the name of that place with all the places that she had ever seen or heard. L.A. had hundreds of restaurants and bars, and even narrowing it down to sports bars left a lot.

"You might have seen it before," he went on. "They got the waitresses with the really short shorts and the shirts that show off their..."

Tori nearly dropped her phone. Now she remembered. She had gone by that place once with Paul, back when they were roaming the streets in hopes of finding a decent (and cheap) place for lunch. Upon seeing two of the place's servers, he suggested that they go there. And when she caught sight of them herself, she lied and said that she was in the mood for Polish cuisine, knowing that the nearest Polish restaurant was a good twenty blocks away. No way in hell was she was going to let some skank—whose bra size was probably equivalent to her grades in high school—serve her, much less leave a tip afterwords.

"No thanks," she informed, having regained her composure. She would rather eat a cup of bland ramen than go to a place like that.

"Come on, Tor." She could hear his pathetic moans: he sounded like a little kid that was just told that he couldn't have a toy that he wanted. "I can't go alone."

"Why not?"

"Well, there's this girl there that I kinda dig, but she won't exactly give me the time of day—not unless she's takin' my order, anyway."

"And you want me to pretend to be your girlfriend?" She didn't even attempt to hide her disdain.

"Women want what they can't have; you're a woman, at least I think you are. I might have to check."

"Har har," she responded sarcastically. "I don't want any part in this." She could not fathom why he would want to attempt to start a relationship that was built on the foundation of an enormous lie.

"Please, Tor. I'll pay for everything. Even the tip."

"No."

"Help a brotha' out."

"Brotha'?" she repeated. "Have you seen my skin color lately? I'm lighter than Beyoncé." Now she knew he was getting desperate. She wondered if he would bring up the time that he loaned her sixty-five cents to buy a soda. Or perhaps the occasion were he let her eat the tomato off his Whopper (which wasn't very charitable when you factored in the fact that he hated tomatoes).

"Fine, just be that way. I guess I'll never find happiness and will be stuck being alone and miserable for the rest of my God given life. I mean you've found your soul mate already, but if you don't care that—"

"Alright, geesh." She didn't feel guilty, but she could not stand terrible acting (it was why she never watched reality shows). "When is all this happening?" She didn't have any plans (after her booty call, Paul had left early the next morning to go on _yet another _fishing trip; she didn't even know that fishing was in season) and there was nothing good on T.V., but she would still need time to plan what she was wearing and such.

"Thursday," he informed. "That's the day they have all you can eat wings."

"You mean you are going to try to make this girl jealous while stuffing your face with saucy meat?"

"The longer I stay the longer I get to make an impression."

"That's true, I guess." No sense arguing, either way.

"Thanks, Tor. I won't forget this."

"Neither will I."

They talked for a few more minutes before saying their goodnight and hanging up. Once Tori had set her phone down (carefully this time), she lied back on her pillow, rolling herself onto her side. She no longer felt like reading...or doing other things while she read. She didn't really feel like doing anything.

"Why'd I agree to that?" she asked herself. She started to feel immense pain in her lower abdomen—she knew that it was a sign that something was going to go wrong.

You see, Tori had always believed herself to have precognitive abilities—which manifested through acts of bodily discomfort—though no one else shared her sentiments. She did not know why they didn't believe her—she was the one that claimed that a global disaster would happen _after _December 21, 2012...and was later proven to be correct when Kim and Kanye announced that they were pregnant.

The gnawing gash in her stomach appeared to be similar to that feeling of impending doom. She knew it wasn't cramps, having already gotten her time of the month a week ago (much to Paul's disappointment), and knew it couldn't be indigestion, as she had only consumed a bowl of her mother's homemade soup and a few crackers for dinner (mother had came by for an impromptu visit). No, it was none of those things.

And though she couldn't place the feeling, she knew that going with André to that abominable place played a huge part.

_Stupid place_, she thought as she closed her eyes to rest for a moment, feeling fatigue—brought on by her conversation—take control of her body. Already she hated the place—and she even found herself hating the staff. Especially the one that would be serving her.

Tori genuinely felt bad for whatever unfortunate sap ended up at her and André's table. Why? Because there was a (very) good chance that she was going to end up giving that girl a piece of her mind and whatnot.

That poor, poor girl.


	2. Vitamin V

"I now officially believe in hell," Jade said as she pulled out a cigarette (her third in the last five minutes). "I must have died and gone there." Currently she was on her lunch break, though—being a quarter past four—she didn't know if you could still call it lunch. And when the time for nourishment finally came, she and Tracy had decided to get a little fresh air by taking their meals outside, where they then proceeded to sit at one of the tables designated only for employees.

Tracy looked up from whomever she was texting back and forth with on her iPhone. "Being in hell sure hasn't taken away your appetite." She used her head to sort of nod/gesture at the empty tray in front of Jade—empty now, though minutes ago it contained a double bacon cheeseburger, two shrimp tacos and a large order of chili fries; all that had been devoured like a man that had just broken a month long hunger strike.

Jade lit up her cigarette and took a hit before she spoke. "I surprised myself; I've never eaten that much in my life. Glad it was all free." Jade had learned that all on duty waitresses got one free meal a day and could have anything on the menu—the only rule being no alcohol (which saddened Jade as, other than a nicely rolled blunt, she could use alcohol more than anything at the moment).

"Just don't start getting chunky—stomach flab sticks out even more when you are in tight clothes."

That made Jade snicker. "Maybe I will. I'll eat like I'm a bodybuilder and gain thirty pounds of pure squishy fat. Bet I'd get canned in a second if that happened."

"Except your melons would also grow bigger, and that'd just make you more popular."

Jade was surprised by Tracy's retort, and since she couldn't think of any sort of response (witty or otherwise), she just went back to her cancer stick. Hard to believe that, for once in her twenty-four year old life, she actually envied small breasted girls—the very same girls that she had been making fun of since the boob fairy paid her a visit when she was thirteen. It made her wonder if Christina Hendricks and Kat Dennings ever felt that way, though she figured that that was a long shot, especially considering that their racks (and not their mediocre acting talents) made them famous.

Blowing out some smoke, Jade closely examined Tracy, whose nimble fingers were working the screen of her phone like a 70s receptionist. Jade likened that she averaged at least one text every minute and fifteen seconds, though she didn't know why Tracy didn't just call whomever; it would sure as hell be faster—and far less likely to result in finger calluses.

And when it looked like Tracy was finally done, judging by the fact that she put down her phone and replaced it with a glass of Pepsi Max that housed a few crushed ice cubes, Jade decided to find something out.

"So...is that dude your boyfriend or whatever?" Her question was more to find out if Tracy did have a boyfriend then out of curiosity over whom Tracy was messaging at the speed of sound.

And that seemed to get a rise out of her—not in the pissed off sense, more in the sense of...amusement.

"I wish." She used her straw to swish around the ice cubes in her glass, much like Jade liked to do with the last drink of beer in her mug. "He's just a friend...who likes to hang with me."

"And are you wearing clothes when the two of you...'hang?'" Jade made air quotes around the word hang with her fingers, which was rather difficult given she was still clutching her cigarette. She had realized, almost immediately, that a guy wouldn't text so frequently with a girl unless he was dating her and/or getting in her pants.

Jade's response made Tracy turn away and hold her head down. "Sometimes." She then pulled herself back up and turned back, starring into Jade's eyes with her own. "But I am not a slut; I just like sex—there's no law that says you are only allowed to sleep with the guy you are dating."

"Lighten up." Jade took a final deep inhale of her cigarette that was now reduced to a stub, and once she exhaled, she spoke again. "I'm not a fan of friends with benefits: the act or the shitty Justin Timberlake movie, but I don't judge. And at least you are honest about it. Unlike those dumb bitches that take a sip of a wine cooler, act like they are shit-faced, and then blow ten dudes in one sitting."

Tracy looked surprised—and impressed—at her declaration. Jade always was one for telling it like it is; it didn't earn her many friends, but it always commended her respect, mostly from females, though also from a few guys—the ones that didn't immediately tremble in her presence.

"I knew there was something that I liked about you."

"Damn, I was hoping it was my ass that you liked."

"Naw, it's your 'I don't give a fuck' attitude." Tracy leaned her head down, her eyes lining up almost perfectly with the back of the seat that Jade was sitting in. "But your ass is nice, too." And before Jade had a chance to comment on either part of that, Tracy said, "But enough about my love life...Tell me about yours. You got a special lady waitin' for you when you go home?"

Hearing that made Jade think about the Latina chick from the bookstore; the one that Jade had instantly felt an attraction to; the one who had been friendly and talkative; the one who seemed to want to get to know Jade better; and the one who Jade essentially gave a metaphorical "fuck you" to, despite having done nothing wrong.

"Nope." Jade dropped her cigarette butt into her burger container, where the other two also lie. "No one at all."

Tracy only nodded sympathetically. And Jade knew why: they were in the same boat, neither having what they truly wanted. But at least there was hope for Tracy; Jade, on the other hand, knew that the chances of ever meeting that Latina chick again were slim to none—and leaning far closer to none.

X—X—X—X—X

Jade had been more than a little surprised when she came back inside for the second half of her shift. She had left a place that contained only a few men—scattered across in various booths—as well as a lonely fellow sitting at the bar, slowly nursing a mug of draft; the last thing she expected was to come back to find nearly every booth, table and bar stool occupied.

And Tracy must have caught her confusion, because she said, "Dinner rush. This is actually one of the better days...for us, anyway."

Now Jade was thinking that a clean bar tab was definitely not worth this. All the beer in Germany wasn't worth this.

"You taking orders telepathically now, West?"

Jade clenched her teeth, letting at least five choice swears seep out before she turned to face the person that she had come to loathe—probably even more now than yesterday.

"No." Jade knew she could take the bitch; she might not have been built like a fighter, but she could hit like one. And the second that she did quit this retched job, her first priority would be to lay Valerie out—blacken an eye, knock a few teeth out, the works.

"Then get your fat ass over to your station and start doing it."

Jade did not immediately react, being too confused over what Valerie said. Jade did not know if Valerie was insinuating that her ass was fat in the Kim Kardashian way or fat in the Khloe Kardashian way, nor was she particularly fond of either insinuation. And she was about to say something about that when a better idea hit her.

"My ass may be fat, but at least it's real." And the expression on Valerie's face...the look of horror—as if she was silently screaming: "How did she know!" Jade could tell right away that she hit a soft spot. It was likely the reason that Valerie had been stunned silent yesterday, back when Jade implied that she had gotten a nose job.

_Pretty ironic,_ thought Jade as she walked away from the bitch that she had, once again, left speechless _She is a giant ass, but she used to have no ass. _And she knew that was a terrible—and likely inaccurate—use of irony but didn't care. Now she had not only blackmail but also a strong feeling that Valerie was not going to chastise her anymore...Or at least not anymore today.

X—X—X—X—X

The second half of Jade's shift had been..._tolerable_, well that was at least until Valerie—who had been working the door—seated the most obnoxious man on the planet, and three guesses whose station the bitch seated him in.

The man: a massive slob who looked to be pushing three hundred pounds, judging by his lack of neck and protruding beer belly that was barely concealed under a bowling shirt, had not even given Jade, who had just walked over to his booth, time to say anything before he ordered three different appetizers and a pitcher of Bud Light—while he maintained constant eye contact...with Jade's rack.

And Jade knew just what to say to him. She had the perfect response at the ready. It was really the only suitable thing that a woman like _herself_ could say to a man like _him _when he was in a place like _this_.

"Right away, sir."

She smiled. She smiled at him. She smiled at the other men in her section. She smiled at two waitresses who were carrying trays of food. She smiled at every fucking person! She smiled so damn much that, by the time that she reached the bar, she had to physically pull her jaw out of the smiling position—much to the amusement of everyone seated there.

"Dumb bitch, making me wait on the Blob that Ate Chicago," Jade said to no one in particular as she handed one of the cooks her order and leaned her back against the bar counter while she waited for the man working the draft dispenser to fill up a pitcher.

Alexis, who had been one stool over with a tray filled with containers of chicken tenders and tiny cups of various dipping sauces, looked in Jade's direction, presumably having heard what Jade had just said. "We've all dealt with Kevin—it's kinda like a rite of passage for all waitresses who work here."

"And is he always this obnoxious?"

That made Alexis snicker. "Honey, you ain't seen nothin' yet." She lifted up her tray, balanced it so that the food wasn't sliding everywhere, and started towards her section, though she stopped long enough to cock her head and shoot Jade another "you don't belong here look." Jade might have taken offense, had she not been mesmerized by the way Alexis's long legs and perfect glutes sashayed with every step she took.

And once Jade managed to come back down to Earth, she grabbed the now full pitcher, along with a mug, and headed back to deal with her unruly customer. Though she had barely set down the pitcher and taken out her notepad before he started speaking.

"'Tis 'bout time...I'm fuckin' wastin' away." The way he spoke, all slurred and such, made Jade think that the bowling alley he (presumably) just came from also served beer.

"Oh, yes, you are practically skin and bones." She knew she was playing with fire, and she also knew that it could drastically affect her tip, but she didn't care. And when he didn't react and instead picked up and started drinking from the pitcher, despite the mug in front of him, it appeared that he either didn't care or was unaware that he was just insulted. "So, what will be your pleasure?"

That made him stop drinking and look up, his many folds of fat stretching to reveal, shockingly, even more folds of fat. "My pleasure? How's 'bout you back at my place...in my hot tub? And don't worry...you don't need a bathing suit or anythin'."

Jade had never been so simultaneously infuriated and repulsed at the same time. It reaffirmed what she already knew—no bet or amount of money was worth this anguish.

And she had been more than prepared to throw down her pad and storm out right away...and would have done so, had she not caught Valerie looking at her. Watching her every move. Studying her every reaction. It was plain as day that Valerie wanted her to quit and leave in a highly dramatic fashion, and that would mean that the bitch would be the one who would come out victorious. Well Jade had only one response to that...

"Oh, that does sound nice," she said, giggling like a ditsy schoolgirl who was looking at shirtless pictures of Taylor Lautner, "but for now how 'bout I just bring you somethin' from this here menu." Jade wasn't sure, but there was a possibility that she shifted into a Southern belle towards the end. No matter—it really helped solidify the performance.

"O'kayssss. I don't know why but I has 'dis sudden craving for breasts and..." Jade followed his eyes as they darted from her chest to her lower region. "...thighsss."

"Oh, I bet that does sound good." Jade was fully dedicated to the bit now, and seeing Valerie sulk—for the second time today—compelled her to keep going. And to show her dedication, she bent down, displaying some cleavage, as she started writing down his order.

And when she finally got down what he wanted which was almost a quarter of the menu, she kept up her theatrics as she walked away, doing everything from swaying her hips to shaking her ass in a suggestive manner; she kept this up all the way to the cook, it taking longer than before thanks to all the "extra steps" she took. And after she set down the numerous pieces of paper, she caught both Alexis and some other waitress looking at her intently, their perfectly manicured eyebrows raised.

And Jade realized that she was most likely trying to justify her own selfish and petty motives, but she couldn't help but believe that Alexis was thinking: _"Good job."_

It gave her an odd sense of satisfaction.

X—X—X—X—X

"Can you believe it? Twenty bucks!" Jade held up the bill, never having been so happy to see Andrew Jackson—who she still wasn't quite sure was a president or not. "And just for letting an obese creep look down my shirt." She had been astounded when she saw the bill, sitting between a pile of chicken bones and empty ketchup packets; at first she had believed that it was just a drunken blunder, brought on by the three pitchers of beer that Kevin had downed, but then he gave her a wink as he was squeezing himself out of the booth, making her realize that it was (undeniably) intentional.

"That's nothing. I had a nip slip once and got fifty bucks," Tracy said. "But you did good; I actually thought that you were going to quit when Valerie stuck you with._..him._" Jade found herself slightly amused by the way Tracy spoke, as if saying Kevin's name was a curse that would cause all the flowers in the vases to wilt.

Jade picked up her glass of Dr Pepper. "To be honest, I was thinking about it." She sucked up some of the liquid through her bendy straw. "I just wanted to show her that I wasn't going to take any of her shit." She had to bite down on the tip of her straw to contain herself; it made her glad that Valerie had already left, because—head waitress or not—Jade was seriously tempted to show her what a mean left hook she possessed.

Tracy stuck a sympathetic palm on Jade's shoulder. "She gets to all of us."

"Why does she act like that?"

"Beats me." Tracy went back to sorting her stacks of money. "Liz has a theory, though. Thinks it's 'cause she abuses the minuscule amount of power that she has. I mean, it's not like she can fire anyone or anything."

Jade slurped up the rest of the soda in her glass, not stopping till she heard the sound of the straw make contact with the ice, and once she had set her glass down carefully, she stood and said, "I'm not worried; I showed that bitch what's what." She considered adding that it wouldn't matter either way, as she was quitting once her week was up but decided against it; she liked Tracy, and she really hoped that their friendship would survive once she wasn't working here anymore—though she knew that was a long shot.

"You leaving?"

"Yeah." Jade eyed her pile of money. She had earlier been informed that the reason that she didn't get her tips right away was because they were shared with the rest of the staff—ten percent to be precise. She wasn't thrilled with that, but she also knew better than to complain, especially if all the other waitresses were cool about it...or at least put on a convincing farce.

"Oh, well, here's your cut. You did decent for someone who didn't get a lot of tables." Tracy held up a small stack of bills, which disappointed Jade, at least until she realized that they consisted almost entirely of tens and twenties.

"I made this?!" She could not believe it—there was easily over two hundred bucks here. She had never made that much money in one afternoon, not even when she sold the mountain bike that she only rode twice (the seat hurt her butt).

Though Tracy must have mistaken her excitement for disappointment, because she said, "Don't worry, you'll do better tomorrow—it's all you can eat wings night; this place will be packed."

Jade was only half listening, being too busy doing the math in her head: two hundred smackers times five days a week was a grand; times that by four weeks and she would be looking at four thousand fucking dollars; and not a penny would go to the the damn greedy government to waste on whatever it was that the government wasted money on. And just think—a year of working here would yield two hundred thousand dollars...Not that she would be working here for a year or anything. No, she was just going to stay the week. That was all...

X—X—X—X—X

Tori had been in the midst of applying her lipstick when her phone buzzed. And being a girl who does not take well to unexpected noises, she ended up giving herself a long red mark across her cheek.

"Goddammit," she said to her reflection as she examined the damage. Sighing, she picked up her phone , more than prepared to chew out whomever it was. And those feelings did not falter at all when she learned that it was André that sent the message.

_Hey, Tor, on my way...be sur 2 look gud...but not 2 gud!_

Rolling her eyes, she set her phone down and went back to finishing getting ready; it was a lot of work to make herself look like she had just "thrown on any old thing." It made her seriously envy men: who could go in the bathroom and come out five minutes later looking better than she did after an hour's worth of grooming and plucking.

"So unfair," her reflection seemed to be saying, and she nodded in agreement as she pulled a facial cleaning cloth from the packet that sat among her other facial cleaning products (there were a ton). And once she cleaned up the red mark and dabbled on some powder in the spot, she put a hand on her hip and pouted her lips just slightly.

_Not bad, _she thought. She did a few Vogue poses, admiring herself from all possible angles. The lilac blouse and black skinny jeans really fit the theme of dressy casual—the look that André had told her to go for. Though, if she was being honest with herself, she knew that no matter what she wore or how she fixed her makeup, it would not change the fact that she was still seriously lacking in one particular area, and she would also be around several women who were far from lacking in that same area.

Just thinking about it made her start to grow angry. What kind of jackass would bring his girlfriend (fake or not) to a sports bar? Much less one where all the waitresses were dressed in trashy clothes that showed off their..._assets_.

And if it wasn't for the fact that she had spent so much time getting ready (and was also rather famished), she would have messaged André and told him not to show up. But since she had gone to all the trouble, she instead grabbed her mini-purse, which hung on the doorknob, and headed down to the lobby. And while she waited, she was (highly) tempted to rush back upstairs and put on the bra that had so much lining that it gave her an entire cup size—which when added to her natural bust, would put her at about a B-cup.

But then André pulled up (in a no parking zone) and honked his horn, forcing her to suck up her feelings of self pity as she prepared to have what she already knew would be the worst meal of her life (and that was saying a lot given the Thanksgiving of 05).

X—X—X—X—X

Even if André hadn't told Tori that he had been here before she still would have known; the fact that one of the waitresses said, "Oh, great, it's _that _guy again," to another waitress was a dead giveaway.

And then Tori heard the second waitress say, "Don't worry, I know just were to put them." And she said this while sporting a grin that could most accurately be described as conniving; Tori had seen that same grin on her uncle...shortly before his struggling Mexican restaurant suddenly burned down.

"Right this way, gents," said the second waitress: a woman with charcoal black hair and a skin tone closely matched that of Tori's, though her's was maybe a smidgen darker than Tori's. She led them to a booth adjacent from the bar and ushered them into seats. "Someone will be right with you."

Tori could only nod before the woman left. She did not know why, but there was something unsettling about her, especially the fact that she seemed all to pleased to seat them in his particular section—as if the floor under them was about to give out.

Tori tapped André, who was closely examining a paper with the draft selections, on the shoulder. "Did that waitress—"

"Valerie."

"Did Valerie seem a little..."

"Evil?" He looked up from his paper. "Yeah, I heard that just 'bout everybody here hates her. I'm not too crazy 'bout her, either."

Tori was about to ask him to elaborate, but before she could do so, she heard, "I'll be your waitress this evening. My name is...you!"

"U, that's a weird name; is it Chinese?" Tori asked, looking up, and once she had done so, she found herself having the same reaction that the waitress was having—and with good reason; who would have ever expected running into..._her _again. It was like fate or some shit.

André, who looked like a person that had walked into a movie mid-way, said, "You ladies know each other or somethin'?"

Tori quickly spoke before a certain someone else could. "Kinda...I guess...I mean...we chatted at a bookstore." Tori thought back to that day and how she tried to befriend her, only to be rudely shut down for no discernible reason; next to Anthony Thompson (11th grade crush) telling her in front of the whole cafeteria that he would rather go to prom with anyone but her, it was the harshest rejection she had ever received.

"Yeah," Angry Girl agreed, and accompanied this with a nod of the head. She then looked at André...closely, almost like she was examining him, judging him. "So, what can I get you _two _to drink?" The way she spit out the word two—as if it was poison that her body was rejecting—made Tori immediately realize that she believed Tori and André to be on an actual bona fide date...And who was Tori to set the record straight?

"Oh, I don't know." Tori looked over at André with loving eyes. "What do you feel like..._honey_?" Her response made him look at her with a: "What the fuck have you been smoking?" expression—apparently he had forgotten that this whole (idiotic) ordeal was his idea in the first place.

"Uh..." he said, looking uncomfortable; he picked the draft paper back up and acted as if he was immersed deeply in it. "...I think I'll take a...Heineken."

The fact that he was ordering beer could only mean that he was not the designated driver for tonight, though Tori didn't mind—she seldom got to drive, not having a car and all. But that also meant that she couldn't consume any alcohol, as she did not drink and drive...not even one measly beer.

"I'll take a Diet Pepsi," Tori said, after having looked over the non-alcohol selections (the few there were).

Angry Girl looked to André, still showing signs of infuriation. "I'll need to see some I.D." She then turned to Tori. "You as well."

To say that Tori was confused would be an understatement. "Why? I ordered a Diet Pepsi."

"How do I know you won't sneak sips of his beer?"

"Just show her your I.D., Tor." André pulled his wallet out and opened it to reveal his drivers license, the very same one from back when he was sixteen, and oh what a picture—he looked like he was posing for an America's Most Wanted mug shot, though it was still a better picture than what Tori had; damn that sneeze.

Tori was not about to comply; at least not until it became blatantly obvious that Angry Girl was more than committed to just standing here until her asinine request was fulfilled. And figuring that it was easier to just do it then have a ten minute staring contest, Tori reluctantly fished her own drivers license out of her mini-purse. And once Tori had retrieved it (it being buried under three tampons), she slid the cursed piece of plastic across the table while doing her best to avoid the complacent look that Angry Girl was giving her—no doubt she was enjoying this and the fact that she currently held power over Tori.

"So...Victoria Felicia Vega...5'6, _101 pounds_." The way she said the last part left Tori confused; she did not know if it was a compliment or an insult, though the latter would be the safer bet.

"I don't gain weight easy...can't help it; it's hereditary." Tori slunk down in her seat, so far down that her knees were almost touching the floor. She hated being judged by her weight, as if she was one of the girls that made themselves puke to fit into a new bathing suit or something equally superficial.

"And yet you are ordering a diet soda, _Victoria_." That made Tori raise herself back up and shoot a glare—a glare that did not phase her in the slightest; she then read over it some more, as if Tori's drivers license contained some ominous fact unknown to the rest of the world. But, eventually, she set in down. "I'll be right back with your drinks, but you can go ahead and look at the menu." And just like that she was gone; the only difference being that, unlike the bookstore, Tori was grateful for the notion.

"That was...somethin'," said André, after almost a minute's worth of silence.

"Yep." Tori fiddled around with the pepper shaker, using her index finger to twirl it in small circles. The amount of disdain she had for André (for dragging her into this mess), Angry Girl (for being...her) and herself (for agreeing to this all) was off the charts. Despite her gnawing hunger and the fact that she knew that she'd be forced to walk over twelve miles, she wanted nothing more to get out of her seat and leave this hell-hole. And had Angry Girl not returned, a mug of beer in one hand, a glass of what Tori presumed diet cola in the other, Tori likely would have.

"Here you go." She practically slammed André's mug down, making some of the yellow liquid spill out and onto the table, and considering that she looked completely unphased by this made Tori believe that it was more than intentional. "And here is yours." She said this just before she leaned over the table and set the glass down, all while giving Tori a perfect view of her cleavage; such a perfect view that Tori now knew that she was wearing a violet mesh bra. "Have you figured out what will be your pleasure for this evening?"

Tori didn't know what she would have said, had she been able to say anything, though she had a hunch that she would have said breasts, maybe even chests, which wouldn't have made any fucking sense, anyway; that was why she was fortunate that her throat had gone dry, thereby forcing her to pickup her soda and wet her whistle.

And she was even more fortunate when André spoke, saying: "I'm having the wing special; what's the hottest sauce you got?"—thus forcing Angry Girl (against her will; Tori could tell) to turn away, also giving Tori enough time to conceal herself with the menu.

And though Tori looked over the selections, she actually wasn't too invested in what she ordering, already knowing that places like this focused on the..._atmosphere _far more than the food. If only André could have a crush on a girl that worked at Red Lobster, especially now that Lobsterfest was going on.

And then Tori found her menu being forcibly pulled down, and heard, "See anything you like?" And, of course, she was standing right in front of Tori, all her exposed...parts on display, and as much as Tori hated to admit it (a lot), she found that the uniform was very flattering with the way it emphasized not only her well endowed chest, but also on her nicely shaped legs and trim stomach; it made Tori feel conflicted: partly because she considered herself a modern feminist (thanks to Cosmo), and also because her brain was telling her that—secure or not—no straight woman should be feeling the sort of feelings that she was having. Feelings that were—metaphorically—making her hormones run around all crazy like in her subconscious.

"Yes," Tori finally said, forcing her eyes to focus on the menu, while also making herself think only about Channing Tatum and Chris Hemmsworth. She was about to order a burger, when she remembered that André was treating, and having not dined on anything pricey in a while, decided to take advantage of her friend's...charitableness. "Yes, I'll take the twelve ounce rib-eye and shrimp: well done on the steak, baked potato for a side—butter, no sour cream." She set down her menu and smiled, legitimately surprised that she kept her composure...And in spite of the two things that had been blocking her peripheral vision.

"Yeah...uh...sure..." Angry Girl just stood there; Tori likened that she had been hoping for something else inane to be said or done—thus giving her further fuel to add to the fire, but Tori denied her that pleasure.

"Well, get to it. I tip based on the service, not the bill." Tori smiled after she said this, recalling part of the conversation the two of them had back at the bookstore, and spotting a (brief) look of dismay made it clear that Tori was not the only one that recalled that part of the conversation.

"Right away," she said before she left. The way she said those last two words...Those two words let Tori know that there was a strong chance that her food would not make it to the table without being (deliberately) dropped at least once. But it was still worth it.

André, who had been sucking on the foam from his mug, finally looked up and gave Tori a questioning stare. "You were pretty rude, doncha think?"

Tori looked down at her glass, wondering if there was anyway that someone could spit in it and have it not show up; when she could not come up with an answer, she raised her head back up. "She started it." She was fully aware that she was coming off sounding like a toddler that had been arguing with another toddler over a toy or some stupid shit like that...And she also didn't care about that factoid.

He shook his head. "You are too much, Tor. Too much."

Despite the fact that he did not just compliment her—not in the slightest—she still smiled as if he did.

X—X—X—X—X

While Tori had been waiting for her food—that seemed to be taking an agonizingly long time to be prepared—another waitress came by their table, and Tori was quickly able to deduce that this was the one that André was trying to make jealous; it was easy to figure out, seeing as André—the normal king of cool and collective—suddenly started acting like a Steve Urkel styled doofus: doing everything from stuttering to knocking his beer over, which created a giant puddle that seeped off the edge and onto the floor.

It was easy to see why he'd go loco for her—she was exactly his type: ebony skinned with the body of a distance runner. Never before had Tori seen anyone, male or female, with a six-pack so defined; you could actually see the outlines of her abdominal muscles, even though the fabric of the uniform.

And once Clarissa (that was her name, according to her name tag, anyway) came back with paper towels to clean up the spill, she started talking. "So, André," she said as she placed a long roll of paper towel over the spill, "this is your..._girlfriend_?" Tori could tell by her tone of voice that she could see through this bullshit facade.

"Oh, yeah," Tori said, smiling lovingly at him; she did not know why she was still trying to keep up this charade, though a small part of her brain told her that it had something to do with a certain other waitress: who was likely off shaking dandruff over Tori's plate.

"That's right," he agreed, his voice coming out in a high pitched squeak.

"Really? Then might you explain this." Clarissa pulled a Nokia Lumia out of her back pocket and held it up so they both could see the screen. A screen that bore Tori's Facebook page...which showed Tori's profile picture—her with her arms wrapped around Paul's wide torso, and right below that were the words: _In a relationship with Paul Vertucci. _"You sure don't look Italian...or white," Clarissa said to André. She glared at him disapprovingly, her eyes cold and unforgiving.

_Goddamn social networking_, thought Tori. Technology seemed to be making it easier than ever to deduce that someone was full of shit; soon private detectives would be a thing of the past.

"Get it through your thick skull—I don't like you like that." Clarissa made several gestures in Tori's direction. "And this was just pathetic."

André said nothing in response and let her leave. He looked downtrodden, as if he just found out that his puppy was ran over; Tori might have consoled him, had she not seen a certain somebody walk towards their booth, two massive plates of food in hand.

She first put André's down...though dropped would be a more accurate term. And then, much like with the drinks, she turned to Tori's side and carefully set down the plate while bending over—once again giving Tori another front row view of Cleavage Live! Tori even theorized that if that damn bra wasn't there that she might be able to see her nip—

"Hope you enjoy your meal."

"Huh?" Tori was pulled out of her thoughts about...female anatomy. Looking up—past two large peaks, much like on the print of the uniform—Tori saw her smiling deviantly. It was almost as if she was silently letting Tori know that she shouldn't eat this food, lest she be prepared to spend the night either on the toilet or in the emergency room.

"I really want you to enjoy it, _Victoria_."

"Oh, I will, uh..."

"Jade."

"Jade?"

"Yes, Jade; it's on my name tag—that I lost this morning."

_Oh, so now you can tell me your name,_ Tori thought, feeling slightly pissed. She then put on the biggest fake smile her facial muscles could muster and reached over and entwined André's hand in her own. "Could you get my boyfriend another beer—he kinda spilled his; isn't that right, babe?"

He silently seemed to be saying: _"Why the fuck you still doin' this shit?" _And Tori responded by squeezing his hand—hard! It was her way of letting him know that he better fucking play along...Or else!

Thankfully, he got the message and said, "Yeah, make it a Guinness."

Tori saw Jade clench her hand into a fist: you could actually see the veins in her forearm begin to throb. She looked as if she was about to get physical—she did put off that vibe.

"Hey, West, did you decide to take a break or somethin'? Because last I checked you were still on the clock." Valerie—the waitress that seated them—stood behind Jade, arms crossed and a disapproving scowl plastered on her face.

Jade kept her back turned from Valerie. "I was just about to get another beer for this man."

And André must have sensed that she was in trouble because he added, "It's true, right Tor?"

Tori considered lying but then figured that she put Jade through enough for one evening. "Yeah, she was."

Valerie did not look convinced...by any of them; it made Tori wonder why she seemed to have a problem with Jade personally—considering the fact that Clarissa had been at their table just as long as Jade had...And without any sort of interruption.

"Then hop to it. And table nineteen needs more ranch."

As Tori watched both of them walk away, she found herself feeling not only guilt but also empathy; she knew what it was like to have a superior who—to put it bluntly—walked around with a stick up her ass.

"Hey, Tor," André suddenly said, snapping her out of her thoughts.

"What?" she responded, looking down at her plate and finding that her appetite had dissipated—and not because of what she had imagined Jade to have done to her food.

"Could 'ya let go of my hand?"

Until he pointed it out, she had not realized that she was still clutching it, her mind being elsewhere. She then loosened her fingers from his and, once free, found that each finger possessed a smear of some type of bright orange sauce—obviously from the wings that he likely immediately dug into upon receiving; he never was one for patience when it came to meat related foods.

"Dammit, now I have to go wash my hands." Groaning audibly (to let her displeasure be known), she slid out of her seat and headed towards the direction that she believed the bathroom to be in.

She walked past many tables filled with howling guys, one who even had the audacity to make a few suggestive remarks about her posterior—at least until she informed him that she had a boyfriend...who was twice his size; that shut the guy up—fast.

And finally, after an amiable red-headed waitress pointed her in the right direction, she made it to her destination and quickly went about getting the nasty stuff off before the smell set in.

"Damn, André," she muttered as she squeezed the soap dispenser repeatedly, making a massive amount of foamy soap come out. She wasn't really upset at him, seeing as she was the one that grabbed his hand, after all. No, he was more of a scapegoat than anything, and it was much easier to blame him than it was to blame the person she was really irate at—herself.

As she held her lathered hands under the faucet, repeatedly trying and failing to get the damn thing to come on, a thought occurred to her: _Maybe I should find Jade and say something. _She continued to toy with that idea, up until she finally managed to make the faucet spew a jet of water.

While she went about washing off the foam, and then applying a second lather—as all of the sauce did not wash out—she heard the door swing open. She didn't think anything of it...At least not until she turned to use the hot air dryer and realized, far too late, that there was a roadblock—two to be precise. And before she could halt, she found herself making contact with them; it was like falling into two giant, moist cupcakes. So unbelievably soft.

_So this is what large breasts feel like, _she thought. She had her eyes closed, and was more than a little afraid to open them, already knowing what the person whose chest she was (unintentionally) violating would do to her. But, in-spite of the voice in her head telling her to not make any sudden movement, she opened her eyes—an action that she immediately regretted.

"Well," was all Jade said, making no attempt to pull away or push Tori off her.

"Ye...ah." Tori could barely speak, and the lack of distance between them did not help. In fact, Tori accounted that they would be touching noses if it wasn't for Jade's ample_...sweater puppies _(that was Paul's favorite term; why Tori didn't know) getting in the way_._

They continued to stand in their current position for an unknown amount of time: it could have been a minute, an hour, twenty years. Time seemed irrelevant. Tori just knew that she was here...pressing into another girl's chest. But then, miraculously, Jade stepped back, just enough so that they were no longer...boob grinding? Whatever it was, Tori was glad that they were no longer doing it. She then tried to leave, taking a few steps towards the door, though she didn't get far before she was cut off by an outstretched arm—it seemed someone didn't want her to leave.

Tori chuckled nervously, trying her best to not show fear, which was difficult, border-lining on impossible. Even for a girl who had been mugged seven times—this month—she found that she was a nervous wreck. And when she tried to leave, again, and was denied to do so, again, she decided to resort to drastic measures.

"I'll call my boyfriend—he knows my scream." She did not know if she was referring to her real boyfriend or her fake one, though either would do. Anyone bigger than Jade would really.

Not that it mattered, because she found that, as soon as she said the word boyfriend, something in Jade seemed to change—she no longer looked like she wanted to use Tori's face as a speed bag; she looked more like she wanted to sit in a dark room...and cry. It was enough to make Tori consider enlightening her on the truth: namely that André was not her boyfriend (and never would be). But then she nixed that idea when she realized that Jade would want to know why she lied (and then kept up the deception), and that would mean telling Jade that she had gotten an odd sense of pleasure (that even she couldn't explain) at seeing Jade become irate with...some kind of emotion.

That made Tori want to ask her personally. Was Jade racist? White supremacist? Or, at the very least, someone who didn't approve of mixed dating? It wouldn't be the first time that Tori experienced it, though it would be the first time that that the person who disapproved wasn't staggering around the living room with a glass of Chianti in hand, screaming out Italian profanities and giving the evil eye to Paul for bringing over the "damn Mexican girl" (Paul's mother sure was a lovely woman).

But Tori did not ask Jade that, nor anything else; she just took advantage of Jade's stunned silence and walked past her. And she had managed to open the door with her foot (no use touching a germy doorknob) when she heard: "I didn't actually do anything to your food...this time."

That should have made Tori feel better. It really should have. But it didn't. And Tori knew that she wouldn't have to worry about Jade doing anything to her food anymore...seeing as there was no way that she was ever coming back here.

X—X—X—X—X

"I just love all you can eat wings night," Tracy said as she held up several dollars and, oddly enough, took a whiff of them like they were sweet smelling roses.

"Yeah," Jade responded half-heartily. She didn't care how much money she was receiving; the only thing she cared about was getting out of here and slamming down beers until she could feel no emotions.

"What's eating you?" Tracy picked up a stack of bills. "You made over three hundred bucks."

Alexis walked up to their booth, two freshly dry cleaned uniforms in hand. "She's upset because she has a hard-on for the Latina chick that was here earlier. You know, the one who Jade glanced at every two minutes."

"Oh, that's what that was," Tracy said. "I just thought that she owed you money or somethin'."

Jade ignored Tracy and instead focused on Alexis—more importantly the fact that she..._knew_. She didn't say anything, she just sort of looked at Alexis, intently and such.

And Alexis must have picked up on this, because she said, "Come off it, we all know that you are a muff diver. You give off a fuckin' vibe that you can see from space."

"It's true," Tracy said.

Jade stuck her head down and shielded her face with her arms. Shit! Now everyone knew. She could not believe that it was so blatantly obvious. It made her wonder if Victoria also knew. Maybe that was why she put such a show on earlier with the black guy; straight girls did tend to act defensive around her—thanks to their idiotic (and closed minded) beliefs about how homosexuality was sinful and, apparently, a contagious disease.

Jade raised herself back up to look at Alexis, who had an amused expression on her face. "You don't...you know...have a problem, do you?"

Alexis shrugged her skinny shoulders, her delt muscles moving just slightly. "Can't say I get it, not really. I mean—pussy is kinda gross if you think about it; seriously, they bleed and shit! But whatever floats your boat." That made Jade smile. "And at least I won't have to worry about you hitting on Nick."

"That's her boyfriend," informed Tracy.

Jade felt a whole lot better. So much that she was comfortable enough to say, "Well, I think dicks are gross. And at least vaginas never go soft or conk out after thirty seconds of thrusting."

"And how'd you know?" asked Alexis.

"My brother," Jade responded simply. "He's also gay."

"Really?" said Tracy and Alexis, both appearing to be excited by this news.

"Yep."

"Does he have abs and pecs and big bulging biceps?" asked Tracy, looking as if she was on the verge of drooling.

"All of those, and even some muscles that I can't name. He does MMA and trains for hours. I used to get exhausted just watching him spar at the gym."

"Wow, a fighter, just like those guys in the UFC," Tracy said.

"Yeah, except those guys are elite and make a lot of money. Leon is nowhere near as good, competes in tiny organizations, and makes crap for pay."

Jade found that her words failed to get through to Tracy, who was off in her own little world. She didn't know why Tracy—a girl in her mid-twenties—was going gaga at the prospect of a guy mixed martial artist (much less one who didn't like women). You would think that that sort of behavior would be reserved for the teenage girls who masturbated to erotic Twilight fan-fiction.

And Alexis, who did not appear to be wowed by Jade's revelations, spoke. "Well, here's your uniforms." She set the two uniforms, still in their dry cleaning bags, on the top of the headrest of Jade's side of the booth. "Be sure to drop the ones you are wearing off tomorrow. Mr. V hates it when we lose these things."

Jade just nodded, not really knowing what else to say. She then watched as Alexis stuck her purse on her shoulder and went to front door. And just as it looked like she was about to leave, she turned and smiled in Jade's direction.

"Oh, and I'd probably do Olivia Munn..." Alexis called out as she pushed the door open. "...but just so I could brag that I did." And then she was gone.

That gave Jade mixed thoughts, but she figured that she could think about it later—like after she had finished her fourth beer and was waiting for Beck to refill her mug, while also having to endure his rambling about how beer doesn't fall from the sky (though they both agreed that it would be badass if that was actually possible).

Jade waited for Tracy to finish stacking the tips and make the deductions (which Jade still wasn't keen on). Once that was done, Jade snatched up her stack, rolled it into two wads, and stuffed one into each cup of her bra (safest place in the world). Now she was good to go.

"Well, be seeing you," she said to Tracy.

Though she didn't even get a chance to move before Tracy asked, "Hey, can I catch a ride back to my place?" She asked this while rubbing the back of her head awkwardly, reminding Jade of the times that she was forced to ask to borrow money from someone that she wasn't particularly fond of.

"You don't have a car?"

"I did, but...uh...well...I kinda...sorta learned that if your check engine light comes on then you should do something about it. Otherwise it may turn out that you have an oil leak that will cause your pistons to lock up...whatever that means."

_Damn_, thought Jade; she could sympathize—if not for Beck and Leon her beloved Camaro would not be in the condition it was in. Jade was good at many male oriented things, but auto-mechanics was not one of them. And though she could sympathize, she also did not want to make a long detour, not when she could be downing drafts and bemoaning to Beck about how shitty her life was—just like she did four to five times a week. "Well...I would, but I was planning on going to my friend's bar and—"

"I've got vodka," Tracy interrupted.

"So where do you live?"

X—X—X—X—X

Jade felt more than a little uncomfortable as she leaned over the island counter and waited for Tracy to get the vodka out of the freezer. It was all because of what happened when they first got here...

After arriving and parking her Camaro, which Tracy assured her would be safe parked by the curb, Tracy had suggested that they both shower—not with each other, something that slightly disappointed Jade (when you haven't have sex in well over a year even the tiniest of sexual prospects become appealing). And Tracy had allowed Jade to shower first, which Jade did, right after she carefully removed her uniform and placed it in its dry cleaning bag.

Now it was not until she had gotten out of the shower, towel wrapped around her nude body, that it occurred to her: she didn't have any clothes! Even worse, Tracy had tossed her bra and panties in the washing machine (thankfully having removed Jade's tip money first), meaning she couldn't even put those back on until morning (Tracy's dryer was broken; she air dried everything).

And if that wasn't bad enough, her and Tracy had completely different body compositions. And that meant that Tracy had only one thing that could fit her—a night shirt...A magenta night shirt...A magenta night shirt littered with pictures of daises and other flowers. In other words: the most revolting shirt that Jade had ever laid eyes upon. And Jade was forced to choose between it and just wearing her towel for the rest of the night.

"Hurry up with that booze," Jade said impatiently. She saw that her towel was slipping and pulled it up again.

"Keep your towel on," Tracy griped, and then laughed as if her terrible joke was actually funny.

"Har har har." Jade looked at Tracy's own ensemble: a pair of red ladies briefs and a blue Nike muscle-shirt. Jade could not believe that Tracy didn't own pajamas or any other nighttime wear; she also couldn't help but think that maybe, just possibly, the reason that Tracy didn't own any nighttime clothes was because she never had a reason to be dressed at nighttime.

She considered asking Tracy about this, figuring that they were in good enough terms that they could discuss this sort of thing without offending one another, but then Tracy pulled out a large bottle, filled a third of the way with clear liquid, and Jade found herself more interested in its contents than over whether or not Tracy was getting boinked on a regular basis.

"How about some Harvey Wallbangers?" Tracy asked. She set the vodka down and opened the fridge, pulling out a carton of Tropicana. And with the door open, Jade could see that a pizza box, three Chinese food containers and a jar of mayonnaise were the only other contents.

"Sure." Jade didn't really care what she made, just as long as it had alcohol in it. And while Tracy went back into the freezer, Jade grabbed the bottle, feeling the numbing iciness of the glass as she spun it around to read the label, getting an unwanted surprise in the process. "Popov Vodka?"

"I never went for Smirnoff, Skyy or any of that fancy favor flavored crap; it all goes down the same," Tracy said, her back still turned and her head still buried in the freezer.

Jade shoved the bottle away. Popov was about as appealing as prison toilet wine. Even the wino that frequently passed out in the alleyway behind her apartment building wouldn't touch the shit.

"Here we go!" Tracy said all a sudden, her voice filled with excitement. She jerked her head out of the freezer and stuck her arm back in, pulling out a long, narrow bottle filled to the near brim with a golden colored liquid that greatly resembled beer. "I forgot that I keep my Galliano in the back."

Jade did not know—nor care—what that was. But, just to make the process go faster, she slid over to the cabinets and opened up the two next to the stove. And underneath an assortment of boxes of sugary breakfast cereal lie what she needed.

"Bingo," Jade said. After looking over her choices, she grabbed the two glasses that looked like they could hold the most liquor.

"Rinse those out," Tracy said as she dumped the vodka into what looked like a Brita water pitcher.

"Roger." Jade scooted behind Tracy. "So what you doin'?" she asked as she turned on the faucet, and after it made a noise that resembled a foghorn, a stream of dirty looking water came out.

"Running your vodka through a filter makes it taste better."

"Oh." Jade didn't ask any follow up questions and went back to rinsing the glasses, though, after examining the finished product, she couldn't help but think that they looked cleaner before.

She then watched as Tracy poured the last of the bottle of vodka through the filter and then dumped the entire container of orange juice in. Once that was done, she went about stirring her concoction with one of those oversized plastic spoons; occasionally she would add in tiny amounts of the other liquor whose name Jade had already forgotten. Many stirs later, she finally stopped and poured some of the yellow-orange liquid into the two glasses that Jade set before her, filling them to the near brim.

"Bottoms up," Tracy said, picking up one of the glasses.

Jade picked up the other one and held it to her nose, immediately being struck by its potent odor. "Damn! This is Lindsay Lohan level strong."

"Nah, you'd have to put some coke in it to be Lohan level. But I do like my strong drinks. Go big or go home."

"I am really starting to like you," Jade declared as she raised her glass to her lips and took a moderate sip. It went down smooth but hard, like candy-coated fire. "Whew!" She found her body involuntarily shuddering. "Damn!"

Tracy chuckled and took a drink herself, having a reaction almost identical to Jade's.

This continued. They took turns: one drinking the other saying something humorous (or at least the liquor made it seem humorous). And the more the liquid in the glass shrunk, the less disdain Jade had for her job, that bitch Valerie and life in general. That even applied to a certain stupid Latina chick: with her stupid long legs and her stupid perfect cheekbones and her stupid...stupidness!

"I 'et he isn't gouda her," Jade said, shortly after she found that there was no more happy juice in her glass.

"Huh?" Valerie said, looking like she had just been woken from a three year slumber.

Jade rolled her eyes—or at least tried to—as she grabbed the pitcher and poured its remaining contents into her glass with an incredibly shaky hand—which caused more to end up on the counter than in the glass. When she eventually got a satisfactory amount in, she set down the now nearly empty pitcher, took a drink, and then turned back to her friend.

"I say'd," Jade began again, trying her best to enunciate her words more clearly, "I b..eett the guy who'us 'ith Toria don't tr..eeater 'ight. U's knows w'ats eyes sayin'?"

"I has nose idea w'at yoouuss b'en sayin'," Tracy responded. "Tehe...eyes fuckin' hammer'd!"

"Yeahpuhh," Jade said, sounding out every syllable. She could feel her lips twist into a grin. There was nothing quite like being drunk, and it was even better with a friend.

"Hay...did ya' nose that you's nekkid?"

Jade mistook what Tracy said for more drunk talk and giggled. But when a slight breeze came in through the open window and she felt two things turn stiff, she found herself looking down—down at two bare mounds with two pointy pink tips. It seemed her towel had came undone at some point—leaving her nude and oblivious.

"You means eye'ves been...stand..ddding here 'ith my...ta-tas on..disss...splay." Jade had to stop to catch her breath. "And ya' didn't says anythin'?"

"T'at's not the only...th'ang on 'splay." Tracy burst into cackles as she pointed to Jade's...lower area—every bit as visible as her bare breasts.

"I'd krickle 'ur crass if crould crake a cri—" Jade couldn't speak any more so she just held up her hand and wiggled her fingers in a threatening manner.

"Hehe, 'ur boobies are jigglin'!" Before Jade could attempt to muster up her vocal chords, Tracy drunkenly stumbled across the room, falling to her knees twice, and disappeared into another room. She came back a minute or two later, again tripping on her own feet, and tossed something at Jade—which Jade tried, and failed, to catch.

Eventually, after many failed attempts, Jade managed to bend her lower body enough to pick up the object—revealed to be the same hideous night shirt from earlier.

"I tain't tearin' 'tis!"

"T'en keep goin' 'round nakey," Tracy said as she crawled to the couch and climbed over the armrest.

Jade continued to eye the atrocious piece of clothing as Tracy turned on the the T.V. and started flipping through the channels. It was a real dilemma: wear the ugliest piece of clothing known to man or continue to stand here exhibiting her lady bits.

Finally, and Jade just knew it was the alcohol's influence, she decided that wearing the..._thing_ was the lesser of two evils. And once the parts of her body that she didn't display to the public were covered, she grabbed her glass and joined Tracy on the couch, ignoring Tracy's various looks as she plopped down and forced Tracy to scoot over to made herself more comfortable.

Neither said anything after that. They just watched Adult Swim and chortled profusely, often at things that weren't even funny. And about two King of the Hills and one American Dad later, Tracy's phone started buzzing; she went to the bedroom to take the call, leaving Jade to stretch her whole body out while continuing to laugh and keep hers drunkenness going with sips of her drink.

And sometime between the credits for American Dad and the theme song for Family Guy, Jade realized that she needed to go to the bathroom. And by the first commercial break, she actually managed to stand up. And by the time that the show came back on, she managed to stand up and stay up.

_I'm walking on sunshine, _she sang in her head as she took massive steps and held her arms up like a praying mantis (why she didn't know) all the way to the bathroom.

And she had just started..."doing her business," when she heard something; at first she just deemed it the voices in her head: the ones that came out when she had been drinking and/or smoking weed. But then her body tipped over and she hit against the wall, making her realize that it was coming from Tracy's room, which (evidently) was on the other side of this wall.

And then she heard it again, confirming her beliefs.

"I told you already, you can't come over tonight, Paul. I've got a guest over." There was a pause. "The new waitress...yes...that one." Another pause. "I don't know—32D, I guess." _That was a good guess,_ thought Jade. "Yeah...yeah...no, she would definitely _not _be up for that. No...no...yeah, yeah just like Ellen."

Jade continued to listen to Tracy talk to whom Jade assumed was the friends with benefits guy; she kept listening until she couldn't hear anything else; after that she finished..."doing her thing," cleaned up and then headed back to the living room. She had taken notice that, given Tracy's lack of slurs, Tracy must have sobered up, but that could be expected—Jade had consumed almost double the alcohol that Tracy had.

And that also meant that Jade would be paying double come tomorrow morning.

I_t was still worth it,_ Jade thought as she made herself comfortable on the couch, suddenly feeling tired. There really was nothing like a healthy dose of vitamin V to help your forget the fact that you were exploiting your body for money and had an unrequited crush on a girl that probably hated your guts.

So worth it.

X—X—X—X—X

"Jade..Jade...Jadey...wakey wakey."

Jade bolted up. "Soylent Green is made out of people!" She looked around at her surroundings, quickly coming to the realization that this was not her home or Beck's bar. She then fell back down. "Five more years."

Tracy shook her lightly. "Gotta get up, sleepyhead." Jade couldn't help but think that Tracy sounded eerily like her mother—back during a simpler time when Jade didn't want to get up for school. "We got work in a few hours."

Jade was about to argue when there was a sudden stirring in her stomach; she knew what was coming next, and it was a miracle that she manged to get up and make it to the bathroom in time.

It was not a pleasant sight...And it felt even worse. It was agonizing—like being punched in the stomach and tasting every vile food blended up into one.

"Wow," said Tracy's voice as Jade continued to keep her head buried in the porcelain bowl. "You must have been wasted."

Jade couldn't respond and just continued to let it come out. Tracy seemed to sense her disarray and helped by flushing the toilet ever third or so disgorge.

And just when Jade was sure that there couldn't possibly be anything left to throw up, save maybe an organ or two, her stomach proved her wrong.

"God-fucking-dammit," she moaned in agony; never had she wanted the sweet release of death so badly. It was almost enough to make her start believing in a deity—just so he could cast a bolt of lightening down and put her out of her misery. It had been so long since she had experienced a sever hangover—she had mostly just drank beer the last few months, being on unemployment and all. And the position she was in right now was (almost) enough to make her give up drinking for good.

Jade didn't dare jinx herself by moving; she just stayed in that exact position. The smell was making her eyes water, her neck was growing stiff and her knees ached like hell, but she was not going to risk it...not a chance.

Waiting proved to be worse torture than emptying the contents of her stomach; it was like being at your execution and waiting for the guard to stick the needle in you, only to find out that the event was being held up thanks to a mix-up involving the potassium chloride being sent to a children's hospital by mistake (Jade fantasized about Death Row a lot; her last meal would be a McRib and a pepperoni and sausage calzone from the pizza place that she found once but could never find again).

She counted one hundred and eighty alligators in her head. Nothing. Another one hundred and twenty alligators. Nothing. She switched to counting rhinoceroses—counting fifty of them. And, you guessed it, nothing.

"Guess the tank is empty," Jade said. She waited for a response but did not receive one. It appeared that Tracy grew bored of the show and left; not that Jade could really blame her—who in their right mind, save some freak on the Internet with an aberrant fetish, would want to watch a girl puke?

She eventually decided to get up, mostly because of the odor—which wouldn't go away no matter how many times she flushed. And when she got up, she got a horrible shock in the form of the medicine cabinet mirror.

She had first believed it to be Bloody Mary or some other evil mirror witch that wanted to kill her or drag her into a parallel universe for all eternity, and she might even have preferred that to seeing...the hideous grotesque thing in front of her—better known as her own reflection.

"Shit," she said to it, "I look like...well...shit." That pretty much summed it up: frizzy hair, deadpanned expression, a blob of vomit clinging to her chin; she figured that if she walked outside right now there would be, at least, an eighty percent chance of being mistaken for a zombie.

She tried washing her face with water a washcloth, but, other than removing the vomit, all it did was make her realize that—in addition to her other pains—she also had a slight headache.

Thinking of every profanity that she knew, including a few that she knew in German and Russian, she headed back into the kitchen to find her clothes and keys. Then she could go off...and die.

Jade saw Tracy upon walking into the kitchen; she was sitting on top of the island, a folded newspaper in hand.

"About time," said Tracy, almost immediately upon her entrance. She got up and walked over to Jade. "I knew how bad you felt, so I went out and got you a soda." She pointed to a bottle of Spite, sitting comfortably next to a glass filled with bubbling liquid, two partially melted ice cubes floating on top.

"You got me a soda?" Jade couldn't believe it; hungover or not, none of her female friends had ever gone out and done something like that—altruism and friends of Jade West did not go hand in hand.

Tracy shrugged. "Figured you'd need it." She then picked up a plastic bottle that rattled and handed it to Jade. "Bet you could use two of these, too."

Jade accepted what was revealed to be Walmart brand extra strength aspirin—a godsend for all hangover victims.

"Thanks." After taking two of the aspirin and washing it down with half of her glass of soda, Jade let out an audible sigh. "Man, that was some night."

"That was nothin'. You should see me when I hit the clubs with the other girls at work. Come to think of it, we are going this Saturday." Tracy seemed to grow excited. "You have to come."

Jade started drinking her soda again—just to buy some time to figure out how she could let her friend down gently. Jade West did not do clubs; they represented everything she hated: overpriced drinks, seizure inducing lights, perverted guys that couldn't comprehend that no meant not a chance in fucking hell!

And then, almost out of nowhere, she came up with the perfect response!

"No."

"Come on." Tracy pouted her lips. "You might even meet a cute girl or two."

Jade set her glass down and rushed back to the bathroom, slamming the door behind her. She didn't really have to throw up—she just didn't want to discuss her dating life. Just like she didn't want to go to a club and end up going home with some girl that was trying to piss off mommy and daddy or get back at a cheating boyfriend. Because that's how they all were.

_And that's how it always will be, _Jade thought, feeling a new kind of pain—the emotional kind. And no amount of aspirin would make that pain go away.

X—X—X—X—X

"I told you...I'm not hungry," Jade said. She looked at the IHOP in front of her; the IHOP that she had arrived at after being dragged by the wrist for five blocks. That had created quite the spectacle.

"Some food will do you a world of good, Ms. Crankypants," Tracy said, and as if to be spiteful, she tightened the grip she had on Jade's wrist before she pulled them both inside.

Jade sneered and used her free hand to make a "knife across the throat" gesture. She knew that she could take Tracy (she had picked up a thing or two from years of watching Leon practice muay thai and Brazilian jui-jitsu), but a hungover Jade was like Popeye before he ate his spinach—strong but not at peek performance.

"Two...booth," said Tracy, confusing Jade, until she realized that Tracy was talking to a waitress—this one being a woman of her early forties, possibly late fifties. And looking at the conservative uniform that the woman was wearing made Jade glad that Tracy had dug up an old _Nine Inch Nails_ t-shirt and pair of baggy jeans (which Jade presumed belonged to an ex) for her to wear; Jade did not want to be seen wearing her uniform outside the workplace. Though, to be accurate, she didn't want to seen wearing it in the work place either, but she didn't have a choice in that matter.

They were led...well—Tracy was led, Jade was dragged—to a booth in the back. Jade immediately took the right side—thanks to Leon's Asperger Syndrome he could only sit on the left side of a booth, and Jade, though lacking in the same mental condition, had grown to only be able to sit on the right side of one; Tracy didn't object to this, thankfully.

And once the drink orders had been taken (Jade ordered coffee; Tracy ordered something called a splasher, which Jade thought looked like a fruit salad in a glass), they were given menus to look over. Though Jade had barely gone to page two before the waitress came back with their drinks; Jade had to admit she was impressed—much better service than she was giving at her own job.

"I'll give you girls time to figure out what you want," the waitress said, and not in a condescending: "You better fucking order something soon voice," before she went off to tend to another table. It was almost unbelievable how friendly and likable she was being. Did she know that she was a waitress?

"That must be what good service is like," said Jade, picking up her cup. She knew it was too hot to drink, so she just held it to her face, letting the aroma hit her nostrils. "Mhh!" She uttered a few noises that probably sounded like sex moans (not that Jade could remember what real sex moans sounded like).

And this did not go unnoticed by Tracy. "You really like coffee, huh?"

Jade nodded as she continued to hold the steaming cup to her face. "Other than beer, it's my favorite thing in the world."

"Then you must really like coffee flavored beer."

Jade set her cup back down. "You would think that, but no." She could still remember the first—and last—time she tried coffee beer: fourth biggest disappointment of her life.

Jade went back to her menu. While weighing in the pros and cons of pancakes with strawberries and whipped cream versus french toast with bananas and caramel sauce, Tracy suddenly slapped her on the arm, which made Jade look up with a glare.

"You better have a good reason for that," Jade said.

"I do...look who's up there." Tracy gestured to the front, and Jade turned to see what was so goddamn important.

_Let's see,_ Jade thought, scanning the patrons that were waiting to be seated. _Obese man, morbidly obese woman, girl who looks like she hasn't eaten...ever, obese couple, overweight child who will probably be obese in the future, Victoria tapping her foot, obese—"_

Jade turned back around in her seat. "The only thing I saw was another statistic for why heart disease is the number one cause of death in the U.S." She then pretended that something on the menu caught her attention and hoped that Tracy would take the hint and drop the subject.

"Right..." Tracy took a drink of her fruit salad and rose up. "Gotta piss," she informed before scurrying away, allowing Jade to breath a sigh of relief.

Jade was tempted to look again, but, knowing that it would only lead to trouble, she forced herself to only look at pictures of omelets and side dishes. And it actually worked much to her legitimate surprise; everything suddenly looked so good. Now she felt like she could eat a horse...or something that this place actually served that wasn't disgusting and illegal to consume.

She finally decided on the chicken and waffles—an always satisfying combination. And she had just picked up her coffee and taken a sip when she saw something that made her nearly spill the entire cup.

She looked again...There was no denying it: Tracy and Victoria were both walking this way!

And before Jade could even attempt to formulate a plan, she heard: "Thanks for sharing your booth; I was told I'd have to wait at least another twenty minutes."

"No problem," said Tracy. "My friend and I have more than enough room. Oh, here she is now."

Jade did not have to—nor did she want to—look to know they were standing there; she could sense it. That and she also caught the scent of some kind of perfume (that definitely wasn't coming from Tracy; she hadn't even bothered to put on deodorant before they left).

_Fuckfuckfuck_, thought Jade, her mind a huddled mess. Here she was—looking like shit, while Victoria stood there—all gorgeous and such. She wanted to pick up her steak knife and maim Tracy with it, then do herself in as well. But, against all the brain cells that she hadn't killed with alcohol, she raised herself up to make eye contract.

And the look of horror on Victoria's face made her immediately regret doing so.

What a day this was turning out to be. And Jade knew that it could only get worse from here. Far worse.


End file.
